Machetes chop
Wool catches dew
Knives sharpened
On stones
Dirty palms
Cup streams to lips
Smoke scented
Tools
I want to practice bushcraft
And leave this sh** behind
I want to practice bushcraft
And leave this f**ing sh**
f** your city planning
You clones are too demanding
Your hopes are set as high
As these yuppies' f**ing homes
I'll fall trees for shelter
Eat foraged food forever
And sleep next to fires
And breathe the open air