Recalled to Life

theflowersreport:

Utopian Futures by Kimya Dawson 

Now can’t you feel the ice caps grow

 Now can’t you hear the forest laugh

 At piles of nicely packaged toothpicks all in processed warehouse rows

 Cause the only processing we do now

 is with one another in our homes

 With people we’ll fight, fuck, laugh, and cry with until the day we die

 Here where we share all that we’ve won

 Here where we grieve for what is lost

 Here where the children grow with names they chose and genders all their own

 Here where we celebrate each other

 Here where you’ve never had a boss

 Here where we sing like restless kids with half chewed food inside our mouths

(Source: funeralofamidala, via realcrime)