In the land of many ills
There’ll always be the one
That’s listening to the voices
(The ones nobody else can hear),
Where grain costs more as liquid –
In the city where rock is
Melted for gain and steel is
Twisted by prophets.
The beautiful green lady,
Standing tall against the rage
Lies to some, lies with others.
Dollars talk to heal the rich
While laughter kills those
Who cannot afford more.
Those you sign papers for
May be the ones waiting for
You to turn your back.