Tue, 09/09/2014 - 15:10 -- ecimase

The world of living starts to die

Our resources begin to dwindle

Too much on cold machines, we rely

Though the answer is so simple

We rely too much on machines

Not enough on ourselves

I think you know what I mean

Our lifelines stacked on shelves

A word devoid of passion

I desperately wish to leave

A cold society, everlasting

Our end is all I can see


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