Strange a world were children starve
Indignant those of epicure
Round the earth they devour
All the wealth of both hemispheres
Only diamonds gold or oil they desire
Irrelevant as soil are the poor
Sadly, even the middle class are demur
Our leader's bought or ignored
Opulent their only desire
Eventually they will expire
For perfect arose
From the stem of thorns

Lust our path of shame
All the sins of greed
Just our wrath of blame
Small the whim of need
Must the quest of the lame
Belong to the naive

Taken all my years
To grasp life
Along with fear
The taste of strife
Tired of tears
At last I laugh