Look at this flower in my hand Outstretched without speaking So eager to devour I look upon the flower Decode it wrong, become the loser It grows in girth, your hand it withers More detached from now Occasionally look up and dither To bury, eating away At your body and mind So carefully nourished Symbiotically entwined Look at the flower, you say Look at the flower, you say Don't give it shade Don't give it shade This is the very thing that helps us get big Don't give it shade Don't give it shade Don't give it shade Don't give it shade All objects that are extensions of me are broken And here you berate me like a boomer For the second life I hold in my hand The one that gives us all we have planned You criticise me, like all else that sustains you Wince at the taste of your mother's boob We travel and complain and point fingers And we argue about privilege Like the privileged like to do Like the privileged like to do That's me and you