Won't the future be nice?
So many benefits of modern technology.
You don't have to go grocery shopping,
Heck, your fridge can order for you now!
Cameras inside the washer and dryer, 'cause yeah.
You can even order casual companionship with an app.
Won't be long before we'll be able to match genomes online,
Probably interconnected with your social media and dating sites of choice,
No need to talk, or even meet, your phone just beeps and you know:
You've found the perfect mate!
Modern convenience folks, step right u-
Oh wait, no, stay home, get married right from your couch!
What's wrong you have the perfect mate, the perfect job, perfect home(s), 1.312 kids, 2.617 pets-
Love???
There's probably an app for that...

Freedom of will,
At least on where to fit,
Inside of the present box
From your neighborhood block.
You’re cut from the cloth,
Of your father, and mother’s from before.
Their barren streets of shame,
Now your platform, sterile and benign,
Ready for a new life to decay.
No, look for an escape,
Don’t let it rot your dreams,
Embrace a new way,
Choose a new kind of day.

Imagine your hand is
one hundred days older
Than the hand you use now.
Look at your hand.

What will that hand hold,
in one hundred days from now?
What will that hand have push away
that changes the next one hundred days?

Your hand is younger than it is now
than it will be in one hundred days.
In one hundred days, this hand will
mould and shape and change each way.

This hand is the age you are now,
and this hand is not eternal.
This hand helps you to write and pick up
what you need; reflexes from danger, sometimes.

One hand in one hundred days may be
marked, with a burn or scar or a tattoo.
The other hand may be softer, because
you wore gloves or moisturised by choice.

Or maybe this hand in one hundred days
Will be blistered, from harm you fought with wonder.
Maybe this hand is a blessing forgotten
And you reach for another coffee.

So why are you so focused
on what happened one hundred days ago?
The hand moves, clenches, rests, changes,
like time too.

It’s polarized like a Kodak Picture
you're clicking in to all my secret desires
I slipped them to you like a patsy to a fortune teller
Am I dreaming?
Cause all this seems to be made for me
Though I hate rowing
you promised me a motorboat
a yacht with infinite wind in her sails
Soon as I toil here for a few years
you’ll let me into that life
Walking down Easy Street
with a gleam in my eye
knowing I could buy watches and bags