the cup is full, yet more you pour?

The Earth shall warm, and Sisyphus has his boulder finally pushed to the tip, but yet it still must fall. What a pointless task.

Yes. Yet alive I am, the hardy fool.
But well you know that August's time is lame.
And summer's hottest days the dogs will rule
Ere long ourselves the Winter's death we blame.
Before you claim my words impolitic,
And rift them with your laughter most derisive
I will write still, as bumbling heretic,
To let you know where earth is most decisive.
Here lies your proof, your actions most lamented
Has let the carbon out, the world's hours now
Is haunted by your echo, your ears demented
By Nature's flutt'ring tears on leaves and bough.
No loss, no loss. We simply trashed our rent.
Yet who lives now, the luxury is spent.

I wonder if all this methane can be converted to natural gas for burning, especially since methane is the same material found in cow's flatulence?