As we continue to drive on
to pile on and pile on
there are miles of wasteland behind us
and we are going around
one day its going to catch up
a machine with no breaks on
green grass will be long gone
a few angry screams can't be heard, can't hear a word
through the noise louder and louder and luder
as the grass no longer makes it through
we keep piling on
iron teeth sink into soil
and the clouds are now black smoke
are you content with the world?
as you choke
some have been crying for centuries
while others collected the salt
some just shrug their sholders
and pave the earth with asphalt
the end of this road is soon to come
no saviour or a chosen one
all leaves are turning brown
but this is not autumn, this is fall
when you family is burning
when your world is turning
don't look at me
I told you so
