� The rain sprays over the industrial forest

Like pesticide on peaches

���� Of poison on leeches,

Like tourist-raped beaches �

�������� It�s a wonderland

Of fatality and a breeding ground

���������� Of immorality.

�� They call umbrellas frail

And check for anthrax in the mail

������� And I can�t help but believe

�� That life is becoming stale.