Hock The Stars And Ration The Sun Poem by Patti Masterman

I went to visit a cousin of mine
Who breaks beer bottles on Sunset and Vine;
He turns on the gas, in abandoned homes,
Says if they cared for them, why'd they roam?

Hock the stars and ration the sun;
Bleed the earth till it comes undone,
Sell everything that's not nailed down:
What we're looking for can't be found.

I was walking down some dead-end road
Found where someone had dumped a load
Of brand new shoes; still in their box;
You get paid now, to rob your own shop.

Let's sell the world to the highest bidder,
No one cares if you're a quitter;
We'll blow it all up, as we step on that rocket,
Try to find a space, out of God's pocket.

Rebel-mankind will never get in line,
Always thinks he's got lots more time;
If he saw that mushroom cloud go up-
He'd sell one-way tickets, till it blew up.

Hock the stars and ration the sun;
Bleed the earth till it comes undone,
Sell everything that's not nailed down:
What we're looking for can't be found.