We will come to you in the end
On our hands and knees,
To worship at the altar of nature.
When money has become worthless
Cars are chunks of useless rusting metal,
And all the technology in the world
Hasn't saved our sorry ***.
A sweltering run through the pastoral streets
Past the chemical plant and decrepit machinery
A couple miles trekked for nature's delicious treats
Incardine specks and black dots poke through thick greenery
Step over the ditch into the smokey mud
Stick your hand in carefully, the cost just a little blood
A blackberry picked from the protective thorn
is sweeter than one picked from the grocery store
— The End —