Adventure is dead

They draw borders on the moon,
borders on mars,
property in bloom,
when do they take the stars?
Anytime they draw them in the sky,
errect traffic lights,
call that "freedom of mine"
and still tell me "join the fights".

Even the mountains they turn into tourist attractions,
shift change on the roof of the world,
space enthusiasts can live their affections
as long as money is their word.
Doesn't matter if they're sick,
if they're old or half-past death,
bigness can buy every kick,
and fuel on all fantasies in their heads.

The world is an amusement park
for humans of all shades,
beware if someone starts to bark,
that's not calculated in their plays.
A golden cage, pretending thrills,
the last trial to escape is meth,
but drugs don't work, it kills
the cognition is solid, adventure is dead.