Do not go into artificial light, Our lamps can bring an end to fragile life; Fly, fly away into the shrouded night. Your passion
There once were some pigs north of Java, Whose warts needed a balaclava. Whilst a new study found, That their numbers were down; Endangered without
I feel the powder beneath my feet; A sickening howl to the south, But I know that I am safe And so I dance with joy.
At the bottom of the ocean, In a mariner’s trench so deep That Hillary could have climbed it, We pray that we will find silence.
The white storks glide across the sky, Migrating south in times gone by; But now like Burroughs in his funk, These flying beasts are hooked
The African fruit fly is rough in love, The male uses his organ like a sword; Its rough edges will cut as it does shove
The Asian tiger mosquito’s a pest, It’s a vector of death-causing disease; In urban locations it makes its nest, And whilst the sun is up
Ocean acidity is on the rise, With many repercussions such as that A fish will not find home before it dies. The new pH
With drips and bursts and streams from their blowholes Beluga whales blow bubbles in the sea; The air encases liquid as it roles Languidly from
Rhythm is in the heart of man, We play with it from when we’re young; It lays down roots and helps us plan, Bunga bung