When you hear me in the grass.

I've done a lot of walking,
But when you see me in the grass, I will not fuss anymore.
I will flow, with the green wheat undulating
To wind,
To currents,
And bend low in the breeze.

I'll come clean
I've been off running
I've been trying to leave
All I know about me
But coming home
I can see your breath on the window
And I know,
I know
This is where I should be


When you owned the ozone

Physics brought this one to mind...as well as my sickness-addled brain. This cold must have come with a built-in drip of Robitussin.

So Chloroflurocarbons. Bad news guys. They bind with oh-three and make oh-two, which is good for us because we breathe that stuff, but then on the other hand that means we're all going to die.

Especially Austrialia (or Sexcriminalboat, as some people say who are from Stone Mountain, Georgia).

Our fearless collegiate "leader", Professor Somebody-or-other-who-can't-teach-a-class (I really don't know her name), pointed out that when O3 doesn't bind with those cuh-razy sun rays that are a-comin' to kill us, that the next thing to resonate perfectly and absorb the energy is our DNA.

Which is bad, because that makes bad things happen to our "cells".

We need those.

So our skin can absorb Ozone, which is handy except that a lot of us were planning on using it for a while. You know, to live in and stuff.

Enter the Tanners. Fake-bakers. The orange-chick makers.

There is actually a segment of the population who really get a kick out of this DNA-resonating jazz. They like the way it tickles their chromosomes. So I have a very "GREEN" solution to make everyone happy (except some DNAs).

Let's just export the tanning business to the ozone layer. We can fly addled individuals up to the brink of space for the best UV rush they've ever experienced. Solar spas on the high plasma seas. It's the (ultraviolet) wave of the future!

Thousands upon thousands of super-saiyan blondes rotating the planet in geo-synchronous cellular obliteration. The clients get the best tans of their lives, and in doing so patch the holes in our dilapitated ozone layer, leaving the rest of us free to run around naked with no sunblock on.

Cocoa-butter for everyone!

Except you, middle-aged moustachio'd white man. None for you.