Machetes chop

Wool catches dew

Knives sharpened

On stones

Dirty palms

Cup streams to lips

Smoke scented

Tools

I want to practice bushcraft

And leave this shit behind

I want to practice bushcraft

And leave this fucking shit

Fuck your city planning

You clones are too demanding

Your hopes are set as high

As these yuppies' fucking homes

I'll fall trees for shelter

Eat foraged food forever

And sleep next to fires

And breathe the open air