If I should Pave[tm], think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is forever asphalt. No biodiversity
In that rich tar shall ever be concealed;
A tar whom mammoths, dinosaurs and more
Died, once, their bodies to decay and form,
In perfect asphalt, solid to the core,
No flaws or faults, its surface uniform.
And think, this planet, forests shed away,
Unbroken black through long eternal years,
Gives back the joy, the pride The Plan[tm] has given,
In boffing PaveCompanions[tm] every day,
And driving, cheeseburgers, and hearty beers,
In HyperCars[tm], under a roiling heaven.