They can keep that wine,
Which has festered for shorter than they
Have rotted inside of crystalized skin.
I’ll live without my heartbeat as
I force space travel to meet my dreams
Of breathing a Titan’s methane air
And swimming in Neptune’s seas.

The thrones they have and the jocks’ lives they wear
Do not interest me,
Not when I have breathed in Tin Pan Alley’s air
And watched Kings play golden trumpets
Up to the high Cs.

They can cling to their castles
Where only cobwebs grow.
I’d rather drag along clunky boxes
With black and green light screens
That shrink down to my palm,
While the numbers within dance free.

Frankly, they can shutter themselves away
Amongst dark corridors and coffins.
I’ll take the Worldwide Web
Every single day.
Over their lifeless deaths
I’ll spend eternity my way.