No man is an island, except pacific trash heaps
I am surrounded, accept illicit plastic sheets
Pile it up, compact it, push it in a neat stack
Combust, use-and-throw, underwater deep packed
Fish feet rest trapped in breathable fabric mesh straps
Extract the regressed crap to re-dress those who run laps
Deep blue old plastic, new synthesis, boots foot cartilage cram
Outlast tales, fables, claims, lifespan of your clan
I’m not a garbage-man, I’m garbage, man