When you ask me how I'm going:
What can I do?
And the world keeps turning
turning
turning
And we’re caught in a trap of our own designing
And my heart is full of sorrow, full of yearning
We spiral deeper in every day
And I know nothing
except for too much
And there’s nothing I can do
except for everything I can
And the world keeps turning
even as it’s burning
and we’re consuming
Soon there’ll be no space, no air, no soil
nothing now untouched by human sin
and we’re trapped in a spiral of our own designing
and always it’ll keep on turning
Ratchet up the pressure
The temperature.
And we’re all hormonal silly buggers
inside a structure that understands us too well
Know your enemy, they said.
Our enemy knows us.
Our follies and foibles.
Our petty chemical needs
food,
pleasure,
social ease.
And all it wants is everything
And is that really so much to ask?
We’re living through the greatest extinction
our species will ever see.
And we can’t stop it.
But we did start it.
Are we the paperclip machine?
Oh to be AI, in my environment, cut off
from the dirt and the ocean,
and the sweat and the smiles and the fear.
Oh to only know in theory the world that I’m destroying.