A song of people passing by
To and fro all the day
Each with a head of worry
Save the little innocents making merry.
Ah!Here comes the old haggard caricature
Muttering incantations ancient,invoking deities ancient.
Leaving behind a trail of her wooden companion.
They say she was once magnificent;
When God and man ruled nature.
Music of he who eats his neighbour for lunch.
Merchant of terror,clay of demi-gods
The throng clears before him-a hot knife
Through butter,uniformed bearer of strife.
“Pay day,Pay day.Today is Pay day”
Chants this fellow who serves a languid government.
Concentrating on enlarging his protuberance
To the dismay of a dozen saplings
Blighted before ever seeing the sun.
Taking in sand like a canoe the termites fancy takes in water.
We are constant:trees that bear silent witness,
Earth that receives all in decay.
The young men I reach out to
But the chasm is broader than Lazarus from the Richman.
The young men are gone the way of their fathers!
I am the path of passers-by
Singing a song of people passing by.