letra de in ten millennia from now... - deadfellow
is this life?
is this consciousness?
or baby are these both just fantasies
that don’t actually exist?
is there more
when our bodies kick us out?
maybe soon we’ll know for sure
what we were arguing about
i always thought
we’d be so well prepared
or at least we’d be appropriately scared
i can’t believe
that we promised ourselves mars
like a summer home
floating through the stars
is this the end
of man and his machine?
but honey what will fuel the rockets
when we pack up and try to leave?
and even then
how much can we expect—
to find some friends in aliens
and ask to crash out at their place?
like “despite the earth
the reputations undeserved
we’re perfect guests
we never take too much
and after all
it won’t be for very long
no, it’s only temporary
just like us.”
i wonder if
in ten millennia from now
they’ll discover what we did
and ask each other, “how?”
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