Shining faces, skinny bodies, never any frown,
No arms or legs to hold itself down;
Floating by, far away, filled up
To bring our home a poisoned cup.

Joy is in the young smiles and old eyes,

No one realizing as it flies,

The pollution it causes to a sick air;

No one said it was fair.

It can change for the better,

Air will stop smelling of old butter,

No more coughing, just laughter,

It will be alright, after. 

It should stop when millions

End rubber bags of helium.


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