We worked 2 long
             2 try 2 feel
    we're well 2 do.
             It got 2 real.
    Our banks 2 big,
               2 big 2 fail,
        and none 2 blame,
                  2 go 2 jail.
          An Earth 2 rich
           with fuel 2 burn.
               2 much 2 waste,
               no time 2 learn.
                    2 late 2 act,
                   2 hard 2 know
                 the way 2 get
                 the flow 2 slow.
                      Intent 2 help
                   can lead 2 hell.
                   Our way 2 live's
                    not gone 2 well.
                We've gone 2 far.
                  We'll learn 2 say
               what wrecks 2 morrow
                             rules 2 day.
                      Nowhere 2 run,
                         the cost 2 steep,
                          no time 2 heal,
                     the wound 2 deep.

Went on a bike ride, sort of long;
a turn we took was sort of wrong.
Got sort of lost; we paid the price;
my water didn't quite suffice.
I plunged my face down in the cold,
the way we did in days of old,
just hoping that my luck would hold,
so alien it sort of seemed
like something that I might have dreamed,
back in the days I loved the best,
like milk from mother nature's breast,
when I was young and life was fun
and killing Earth had just begun.

Someone's moving in next door.
We liked it how it was before.
You've got a gal; you've got a bed.
Your eyes roll back inside your head.
Suddenly there's three instead.
We're on a binge; we're on a roll.
It's all beyond a man's control.
What was a trickle's now a roar.
We've now become what we abhor.
We hope the neighbors understand.
You can't withstand so much demand.
We need the dough; we sold the land.
A man begins to think about
moving on and moving out.
Look around. You might still get
a place that isn't ruined, yet.
We don't much like it anymore.
Someone's moving in next door.

Democracy, however hip,
let mental midgets steer the ship.
Forgive me if I'm sounding shrill;
denial's one more way to ****.
You start to see the way things are —
another hottest June so far ...
Forget the things you thought were norms;
'cause now it's drought between the storms.
To where we'll go — no man's that smart;
we sorta tore the thing apart;
we're on a sea without a chart.
We used to gaze up at the stars
and dream of sending men to mars;
we sort of did it, I suppose;
we're on a planet no one knows.

Back at Stanford, set me see,
maybe 1993,
psychologists with good intent
designed a bold experiment,
to recreate and view unmarred
relationships of man and guard.
Whatever college lads applied
they'd simply randomly divide.
The major theme: It's just some kids,
one group that does, one group that bids.
The guards in aviator glasses
patrolled the halls, now cleared of classes.
The prisoners got rough-cut dresses
and buckets where they made their messes.
Before an hour has accrued
they choose to strip a classmate ****.
Some kids are easy to control;
they take the others to the hole.
When reason fails to do the trick
a guard slips up and swings his stick.
Some cons decide it must be true;
they try escape and almost do
and this is just day number two.
A kid want out. He makes his pleas
and claims he has a strange disease.
Some more want out. They do what's right,
confess to everything in sight.
They break it up on just day six
while doing camel ******* tricks.
I hope you have a better plan
than just to trust your fellow man.

It's surely incumbent on us to move faster
to try and prevent an impending disaster.
Widespread destruction is surely illicit
but those of high morals are fully complicit.
One ponders a path where production's pervasive;
our product promotion has grown too persuasive;
our gadgets and gizmos distinctly delight us;
the path of our passage lies deep in detritus.
We now find ourselves in a sad situation,
defiant of logic despite education.
One might think a culture of waste so permissive
might foster a climate of doubt more divisive,
but we, in confusion, prefer the illusion
that comes from the fusion of greed and delusion.
The outside observer could be quite confused
to see our surroundings severely abused,
but being objective, it it isn't that pleasant
observing the future consumed by the present,
so we have a culture that's deeply diseased
and live, for the most part, quite pleasantly pleased.

It's Memorial Day and I guess we should pay
respects to the fellows who got in war's way
and hope that they felt as they felt their light fade
content with the actions and choices they'd made
and hope they believed as they drew their last air
they'd paid a good price, that the deal was fair,
that they died for a place they can see past the fame,
where every man counts and they all count the same,
a place where there's freedom, respect and fair play,
regardless of station each man has his say,
for something that's lasting, something that's real.
I'm not sure we held up our end of the deal.