She said “on this my peninsula there’s limited space for ingesting a, a loving family of three”

And it’s not the way for me.

So I joined intelligencia, espionage in Valencia. With a bucket of beer and a ball,

God loves an activist on call.

It’s shoeless shoegaze in old tombs.

Thousands of lives were lost in these rooms.

And meals that tour bestowed?

Gut problems at the side of the road.

Like lichen loggers blogging from green party bus top,

The timetables 2 degrees.

It read 51% percent of emissions on the patches of your dungarees.

Those Scandinavian bins filled with soil.

We’re packing permaculture in the coffee spoils.

“It’s not the way I know,

So, it won’t be the way we go.”

Like Lichen landing from a sanding bench in Oslo.

In 1903, the timber found its way to a farmyard before it found its way to me.

She said on this my peninsula, just let that wisdom comfort ya,

but down in the dumps again is where we find her with her trembling friends.

It’s not the way I know, It won’t be the way we go.