Better Than You.

A flimsy justification, I guess.

Better Than You.

Napkins on our laps,
A knife to your neck,
We're the kings, we're the aces,
You're the two's in each deck.
Were you wild, were we jacks,
You'd be wild enough to fight back.
Pair and compare your lives,
With a grain of our salt,
We're better than you,
But it's not our fault.

We're the top of the pyramid,
Holding the burden of god's love,
Are the peak and the base
Just as sacred above?
We don't want to be cruel, don't want to be rude,
But it's uncomfortable to sympathize with our food.
It's our necessity,
It would be your assault,
We're better than you,
But it's not our fault.

What We Stand To Lose.

When too many words are used to describe too many things, things get real cluttered.

What We Stand To Lose

Hunters and gatherers will hunt now to gather,
Come home to rooms too small and decide what to have there.
Wading through bottles, backpacks, blankets and knick-knacks
With tires on their arms and kitchen sinks weighing on their backs.
And they push out two piles just to push in three through the door,
On the walls in red paint battle the words "enough" and "more".
Laden, so heavy, they break through their shoes,
But we're measured by what we stand to lose.

The moon is full, but not like we are,
We want to orbit the sun like a uhaul with the speed of a sportscar,
Bright yellow or dusty gray, there's no vestige of clutter.
No cabinets or dressers that are too filled up to shut there.
We float in space longing for space, and the courage to escape,
But we dare not abandon our accumulations, bulging under strips of tape,
And we long to live with only what we can use,
And to be measure by what we've stood to lose.

Caught between then and now and now and soon,
How will we celebrate beneath and unobstructed moon?
And time will dictate what tools we'll use,
To measure what we stand to lose.