No fifty shades
no shadows prancing in the glades
no faeries picking dandelions to try on for a hat,
none of that.

Bulldozers, dull dozers scape away the topsoil, spoil the landscape, mar the view, build new homes for me and you and what do we look out upon?

Worn down, torn down, trees would grow well in the town, in the square, no faeries there, pigeon **** not a lot just a bit and dog poo the new view, tear it up that's what we do and start again.

We build a tomb of many rooms and think we call the shots, but from infancy unto the grave
we think someone will come along, drop the bomb, but save us from the blast.

I have passed you in a day of many moons while you were building fireproof tombs and you never heard me say a thing just whisper futile juvenile.