Things seem to go from bad to worse
And people wonder what's the curse
While I sit back and write some verse
As though there's nothing wrong
Bomb-blasts shake the city streets
The child hungry little eats
And people fear those whom they meet
I put words to a song
Money makes the laws and still
The moneyed do not feel their fill
Although many poor them shill
And I just trudge along
Stranded drivers have to die
And too few think to question why
Saying they had it coming, aye,
They stood around too long
All such things are bad, of course,
Unjust use of unjust force
And heads remain in sand perforce
Hidden, fearing wrong
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