Some nights I sit around and,
In my cockeyed stupor,
I think about the last of nights,
And what I put it off for.
I contemplate the vast in height,
Not that it’s what I ask for.
I wonder on the sweet goodbyes,
The souls a soulless one as I,
Though I might suffer else to try,
Could only ever really sigh
And give my mind to.

Ripped too soon from mama’s teat,
Eliminated, endless meat,
Organic, interstellar peat,
To grow between your barefoot feet,
We, those beneath, consent no more.
Please open up this pearly door,
You can keep your heaven,
We want more!
Release us.