Bury your heart,
and bury your mind,
and take your time,
with your boots upon the chair,
and your mind elsewhere,
yes, hungry bellies,
need food to eat,
in the back streets of Futura,
in the slums,
where no one barely sleeps,
and the waves of happiness come,
only with amphetamines,
and guns,
as on the streets the crazy roam,
and at home,
the TV tries to sell you dreams,
dreams that are far too expensive,
dreams of far-off places that you will probably never go,
and that are far beyond most people’s reach,
whilst the insane outside they howl and screech,
they howl and screech,
and in the streets of Futura,
the drunks they desperately drink the puddles,
outside the brewery,
where the beer it runs out in trickles from pipes that leak,
and amphetamine dreams numb the babies,
and their parents,
and in the air great despair,
and poverty everywhere,
in the Futura,
where it is the survival of the fittest,
and the parents they try to hack the cryptocurrencies,
hoping to get rich,
hoping to pay for medical treatment for every disease,
Futura,
a place that everyone wishes to leave,
a place that wishes to be,
a place where everyone is high and suffers for their sanity.
