When recycling is in the individuals hands
When each man stands to divide plastics and cans
Papers, organics, and what’s in-between
You’re going blue, and not going green

But imagine one friar and place him on the hill
And artist at heart, with ability and skill
Let him claim it all... the mess as his own spill
Let him devise a plan, and let him swim uphill

When enlightenment in the west means paving forests into hardships
Leaving fruit trees scarce, and so few berries it’s heartless
Where we still shun the poor, those with little dairy
And mock the young with extra weight to carry

But imagine one friar and place him in a tower
Ask what he would do, give him a few hours
Give all the money to redistribute, land too
Allow for the friar to have the power over the wealthiest few

Such an exotic friar must have a heart of gold
I know him, he feels like he is getting old
If just knew the tower that looked over the view
I’d introduce the man who would upgrade you