In the raining park the chessmen play,   The faithful atheists refuse to pray,   The steam-works weep, the addicts do not care,   Crowd of cold people stand by and stare      The garbage eaters, their many retainers   Come to collect all the foul remainders   The smoke hangs heavy, the wrecking ball swings   In the clockwork of a collapsing thing      Wasted plastic empire's golden age, chemical wedding   Citizens in their refineries cheer the nuptial bedding   The hourglass is turning      On a shore of iron, cutters, and clippers   Paper, rock, rock, paper, and scissors   On a road of skulls their story moves on   It's a bumpy ride and very, very, very long      In the blue sky the seagulls fly over garbage.   Are we the ocean? Are we the desert?   Are we the garbage? Who's to say?