no comfort

It’s the end of the world as we know it It’s the end of the world as we know it It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel sick battery hen scratching at the dust producing as many eggs as required to keep the system thrusting forward campaigning door to door to prophecy these icebergs and windstorms 18 years ago no comfort in knowing I spoke the truth Finnish deepsea fishermen paid by commission resorting to the furthest corners of the planet happy to be away from their young families for the glory of conquest in 6month Antarctic stretches slim pickings and desperate measures to sustain our habits these days