Hush, my child, you have control of your world
Those tiny, fleshy fingers of yours have got it
That oil-squirting teet of lurching nightmares and lead
Is your mind playing tricks
It's the eleventh month
And this clean air is my promise
Your ancestors fueled their dreams
by the gallon,
But, baby, they saw mammals dying by the dozens,
then the wiser of our race outlawed oil decades ago.
Now hmmmmm
Let this electric motor lul
hmmmm
mmm
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