Here comes my very own
Self Righteous Indignation
You're FREE to change the Station.
Can you imagine a life
That gives you the option
To ride private jets to your child's games?
You can't be bothered by the masses
The workers below who sit
Each in their cars in traffic
to get to their jobs
to clean your house,
to trim your hedges,
to make your meals,
to deliver your pleasures...
Am I really going to cry
Over the loss of one more Elite
While the toilers suffer and die
To bring you your joys?
How proud do you feel while you dine
Sipping from your metal straw
That put out how many emissions
To fabricate so you can claim
You're not responsible
For that dead whale that choked
And bloodied your private beach?
Have you forgotten how to drink from a cup?
Has it not occurred to you
That the whiteness of your smile
Has less value to the planet
Than not using a straw at all?
But then, what would they sell you?
Who then would make a profit?
Please, excuse me for my nihilism;
For saying, we get what we deserve.
Let Los Angeles sink into the ocean.
Let the viruses cross our so-called borders.
Let the weapons we built be turned on us.
Our existence has proven fatalistic.
We've so much as begged our Mother
to render us extinct,
to extract us from her house.
Our lives are not worth saving.
We are the Omens of Destruction.
We are the Bearers of Bad News.
We are the Leaders of our own Procession,
and the angels will not call for us.