Concrete

I barely remember my instincts, my home
A golden age of my own
On a concrete ground I watch the weather change
Things we should never derange

I see beauty in dying flowers
I find bliss in acid rain
These days it all seems so mundane

Everyone is wired to a dying tree
Everyone is connected
To the sea

On my plastic floor
I just can't seem to get
It's all perfectly coherent

Everyone is wired
To a dying tree
Everyone is connected
To the sea
Radio waves radiation
In the air we breathe
Everyone is choking on our frequencies

Everyone is wired
To a dying tree
Everyone is connected
To the sea
Radio waves radiation
In the air we breathe
Everyone is choking on our frequencies