Sat under the poet tree
Whose branches reach out words
That have inspired local writer's for centuries
Classic songs are sung by birds
As I finish my final verse
The last poet under the poet tree

Tomorrow comes the concrete roads
And the concrete homes
Bye to the green land
Bye to the fresh land
So generic Jonny 2.0 can save ten minutes driving
Getting to work
While investment jerks
Buckle their belts
After raping a little more money
Out of the badly beaten
Mother earth