The only obligation for living,

Is that we lay down somewhere and die,

The only thought we have of happiness,

Is felt as we breakdown and cry,

So don't speak to me of your understanding,

Don't expect telegrams of thanks,

Luxury cocoons you from misery, as

With hands tied we fall on life's tracks.

 

Ministry for Empathy’s doors firmly bolted,

All other avenues to a bright future closed,

Our attempts to fight for our survival,

Are met with a cold shoulder and froze,

So don't speak to me of reincarnation,

Of the stalwarts for freedom and right,

It's not they suffering the indignity,

Of a park bench on a November night.

 

Lost souls with their lives in tatters,

Crawl the highways of pain and despair,

Wills crushed by imposed inadequacy,

Their lives, stripped of reason and care,

So don't speak to me of our futures,

Don't degrade us with more of your lies,

Give us the rationale for our existence,

Not the wherefores, or the who's, but the whys.

 

We don't give a damn about your recessions,

Fiscal budgetary, we don't quite understand,

We know our families are going hungry,

Time together, running out with the sand,

So don't speak to me about hesitation,

There's no option to wait another year,

Set the wheels of compassion in motion,

Aid us to see past tomorrow without fear.