Utopia

The leaves on trees are silver,
the wind whispers to you.
The mountains sway in the breeze,
the third sun rises to the song of the birds,
and the flowers sparkle in the light.
In the light of the setting suns the leaves are aflame,
the moon cries it radiance down to the earth.
No one bleeds tonight as the war is over;
fighting and screaming are no longer heard.
Death has stopped, the world is dead,
this is Utopia, no one is here, and this is the end.
Is this want you want?
No? Then help it stop, my friend.