We'll all be dead in a million years,
Perhaps much sooner than that.
The way we go about our lives
Is conducive to that track.
If we don't end all existence in
A blazing nuclear war,
We'll poison this sphere (that much is clear)
With smoke and sludge and tar.
But here in my tree,
Surrounded by leaves
And the golden, sparkling light,
The bombs and the haze
Seem so far away.
Perhaps we'll be all right.