Monday, June 15, 2009

One Hundred

We're having visions you know,
something of the future, a taste of the present
Black holes shout from our arms,
the lips of modern disappointment begin to pout
We've forgotten how to cope, we were promised the Sun
The roses in my eyes have bloomed madly 
and seen love mingled with hate
Last night I dreamed I was swimming in a sea of 
cellular phones and God was made of plastic
I dreamed that a pair of hands would crush
the last white bird
A mob would come
One hundred years from now, we will say
Oil came, oil went
One hundred years from now we'll sleep under
new stars, new skin
Things will be very different,
One hundred years from now.

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