Plastic Nightmare

Nothing is going to get better.
The chill creeps up my spine.
Nothing is going to get better,
and the choice was partly mine.

Nobody heeds their crying,
the bones of the plastic sea.
Nobody heeds their crying
but a cold mortality.

The stuff that will last forever
doesn’t breathe or eat or drink.
The stuff that will last forever
hears no cry and cannot think.

And nothing is going to get better
while those who can breathe ignore
that nothing will ever get better.
That’s what brains are for.

Nobody listens to silence.
Nobody wants to know.
Nobody looks beyond this
in case their own fears should show.

But the stuff that will last forever
will slowly usurp our place.
The stuff that will last forever
is the shame of the human race.