Decorating cafes with string lights will come out of date, become tasteless.
People will balk at us, old folks then.
They will prohibit the blasting of music outside on the streets,
Caring for noise pollution.
Each one of the dogs will have job.
Each one of the roaches - a mission.
And everything will be in its rightful place,
Serving.
Deserving the best.
Empowering futures.
Creating the beautiful world we all craved for.
But depression will never be cured,
Depressed people will not be tended.
They will be politely ignored.
It will be kindly intended
That everybody follow their dreams.
And if your dream is to die
So be it, fare thee well, sour face,
It's ok that you leave without grace.
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