Through this old city to fly
to look down and weep from
on high
at the poverty stricken who kick at the doors of cathedrals and food banks
at those who just want to get by,

at those who give thanks to an imaginary creator
at the makers of myths.

On the magazine racks girls on their backs, men with no briefs on, how long does this go on and who really cares?

and it's the pharmaceutical industry that made this machinery and we are being ordered to take two pills of lethargy
four times a day.

Intifada?
it's
harder to break chains than make them.

Filling up land with the landfill and the overspill's dumped far out to sea,

bring it on home to me that we as society are solely to blame.

'I came
I saw...'
swear I'll never
go there again

cross my heart and hope to die
which I probably will
at the end.