“terra” Poetic

Natures way of saying “fuck you”
Is killing off everything you love
Twisting all your thought into nightmares
Dinner is no longer made for you
No, it is made through you
You are dinner now
Ready to be bought by big compaines
Ready to be their whore of damnnation
You are their salesperson now
With your youthful face you sell millions
At first grey hair however
They will cast you back into the machine
Hope that some younger, better you arrives
Instead you come back worse than before
So they lay you down on the bed of nails they call retirement
Now your life consists of waiting on the mailman
Waiting for your retirement fund check
Finally it has come
Open…empty nothing inside
This is Bush
Bush is god
Worship the bush
All Hail Bush
Thank you mr. Bush for your “terra”