Myopitopia

It's 6 a.m. as I stir my coffee
And look out at the end of my street
I see a pile of busted up microwaves bathed in orange light
Shone like the throne for a single Sprite
There's a torn up chair, and a dented dryer
And a tableau of plastic cups
A few years ago these were glories of the free world
Fresh from birth on the global supply chain
Their production, fed by destrucion
Conceived with infinity in mind
It's a picture of the human race screaming
No! No! In the face of entropy
It's a picture of the human race screaming
No! No! In the face of entropy
That's how you build a
That's how you build a
That's how you build a myopitopia

Myopitopia
Myopitopia

Myopitopia, 'topia
Myopitopia