Tin Can Soul
If you wish to seek it, just follow the music.
It's the sound of a tin can against asphalt.
The melody is the echo of the lost.
Humanity sucked into an apple, a smartphone- a PlayStation.
The babysitter and her boyfriend
have AI on the brain.
If you find it, there is no rescuing it.
It's become necrosed and hollow-eyed.
Burnt beyond recognition.
Humanity in a tin can ward
with third-degree burns
over 100 percent of its soul.
The new world is in raggedy disorder
Jesus can't come soon enough.
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