Feasting with eyes open, the greediness of a good life sets in

A hunger that gnaws, not for bread, but for their gilded ease.

Observing the well fed sitting on grand yachts

Their laughter a distant, mocking melody on the salt-laced breeze.

Feeling obscure on remote, innate objects

The rough texture of stone, the humble curve of a clay bowl

Suddenly alien, a cruel reminder of what's out of reach

While they sip champagne, oblivious to the cracks in my soul.

The sun glints off polished chrome, a blinding and arrogant light

Reflecting back the chasm, the gulf that stretches wide

Justifying the end of their tinted, peaceful lives.