Clean Air

Picture us, out in the country,
By an old dirt road.
Our feet are bare and our jeans are blue
And cities are far from here.
Running about as free as the breeze
We chanced to see...
"Is it a storm?" you asked, no, I replied,
"It's the smog of our city."

As we lie so very snug
We watched our city die.
The black ash rain that obstructs the sun
Has eased those people's pain

You know they're relieved from their pressure,
They could only think of work.
But then you said you hoped even then
That the "cheats" would not find hell.

So as we lie so very snug
And watched our city die
The hideous rain has stopped now
But everyone is dead.

Picture us out in the country
By an old dirt road
Our feet are bare and our jeans are blues
And cities are nowhere in sight.
The spiral toward the sky
Has got to end
And now it has
For everyone is dead
'cept for you...
And me... and the air