Anthropocene  

When all that's done with voracious troops
Is to guard invisible borders  
And blindly follow evil orders  
From a minority of bourgeois dupes  
  
We add useless lines to a map  
   
Whose topography doesn't care    
Any more than the boundless air  
Flowing in and out of every chap.  
   
So let's get those chaps to go to work  
To clean the plastic from the sea  
And replant every burned out tree  
Burned by another careless jerk.

No doubt as careless as those who sell  
Crude oil pumped from the pits of hell.