The smoke that flows when plants explode and the nuclear tide rolls through
the sad dismay that hits today as the fish turn black and blue
the woman who stare the men who dare know that there’s nothing to do
about the life we lead and the endless greed in the land of the rich, who are few.
The love that turns to shredding BOT without a care for age
is what we watch on the tube in the time of quiet rage.
The bombs that drop from miles above, so our flyboys are safe from the cage
are replaced by drones that are flown back home, it signals the final stage.
fuck the jerks who spread A.I. and who honestly know it can win
Arnold’s terminator was a bad joke but now it’s a sure as a sin.
And sin we do in the age of unrest when the poor are cleaned off in the din
we grab the last can of Pringles, head south to a beach to drink gin
because the last of what was so recently dear is gone: such a terrible toll
as sure as Cowell and MTV put an end to anti-establishment rock and roll.
so hug your girl and go for a whirl and make these days the best on the knoll
because just as sure as math has numbers, it’s gonna be a massive toll.
If the US and China start a duel of petty disputes in the sea
then it could spread (watch out Iran) and the money men will all soon flee
to New Zealand or some other nook like a pole or some place where it’s easy to pee
And the whip will come down, thanks Jagger and RIchards, in the last hours of being free.
