Tiny ants scurry
Busy with nothing to do
With the way they fuss and worry
They must be people too

Once in a while they meet
But they always seem to part
Like people on the street
Who love with broken hearts

So full of self-importance
With empires made of sand
Do they not see the arrogance
With which they destroy and demand?

Remember when you see an ant
Crushed upon the floor
That you are not so different
That you are nothing more