Come on, you say to me, help to **** the soil dry of deep, muddy clays made by colonial lullabies and forgo your selfish thoughts of suicide in favor of a dark grey summer salad coupled with a nuclear fish fry.
Unleash a cosmic sigh, I bleed to breedΒ Β my human seeds and cultivate forests of ***** while pulling up deliciously edible weeds who sing laughing limericks we care not to listen to and languishing warnings we care not to heed.
Me and you, baby, let's build a box made of ticky-tacky in the back of some skeletal, suburban cul-de-sac, crafted over a cesspool vat of human feces, spicy DDT and industrial-grade mercury.
Apathy towards the life source breeds apathy towards corporate force breeds disgust, killing the serpent and reclaiming the horse, tossing the apple, preparing for the worst.
Pile up pounds of gold and crowns to assign money a meaning and postmark letters filled with plastics and post-its with "PARADISE IN THE REACH OF ALL MEN" scrawled in felt-tipped pen to peoples perched on the edge of the planet, to whom time gave rhymes from learning to lay their ears down in the dirt and succumbing to the the devil wearing a blood-stained, starched, white shirt.
Dilute the base of me with an acidic you, quick, pollute the river so salmon scurry downstream and the arduous algae dries up, screaming.