The gingerbread man lost his arm in nom
Now he’s on line fucking everybody’s mom
You can’t spell Boomer without “Me”
And environmental catastrophe
Squeezed out a generation too numbed to feel
And see destroyed all they were taught was real
The next is stuck in an eternal trauma
Too broke to join in the drama
Spawn a crowd of riled-up world creators
Who suffers punishment for procrastinators
Neck deep in ashes, trying to turn them green
Choked on what’s left from the boom right lean
The world suffocates on plastic confetti
Wondering if the locusts will die already