One hundred years from now when our grandkids have all had sex and look back at the past at the moments they miss,

will they think they've had it better than we had it?
Will they gaze at a strip-mall where a field had once been?
Will they think they where born late,
like the way we now do it?
Or will the curse of the present relent credence to it?
Will they hear all the old songs and think they're all true?
And hate all their own songs and everything new?

Well I'm here to tell you as someone who's known it,
as someone who's lived it, as someone who's grown,
as somebody who somebody once loaned a home to,
that the grass is always greener,
the past is always cleaner,
the present is crowded and everyone's meaner.
They say we're moving towards something,
but I think we're moving from something.
There are some folks who are more apathetic,
and then there's some folks who are more money driven.

All I know there's always been greed and green acres,
and war and peacemakers,
and then there's your takers and you leavers,
and your havers and your needers.
And in this great froth as you skim through the batter,
there's not many more of the former,
and less of the latter.
Help us climb out of this pitfall disaster,
led by dynasty charlatans.

Or there's immortal disconnect,
spawned by gluttonous connection.
You pick your own culture without the viewer discretion,
where there's no more history and nothing is learned,
where you shun all your kin and your bridges are burned,
where you are what you buy and you're who what you own,
and you think to yourself when you live all alone,
and you make yourself feel fine when everything's wrong,
when the world keeps turning but you're brittle as bone.

So to all you future dreamers and lovers and leavers,
to all those who know there's still something between us,
that binds us and reminds us of times past,
I appreciate you listening to this one man's last gasp.
In spite of all the words that we can't put to song,
I'd thank you to take off your eye-shades,
and please, sing along.

-Dr. Dog