A slow count on fingers maimed; Everything that's still is situational drudge; Mind to go; Evolved to sludge; Looking up, looking down;
A conquistador's passport is stamped; A hero, a villain, in the dream time; A fantasy is fashioned, an exciting life; To triumph, to serve,
to be a celebrity's friend; And know the way of the friend of the hero; Stilted as it seems when earning money; And a problem for the miserable worker:
How funny it is to think of skiing in summer; To use a crane to remove a shallow splinter; And to pay hundreds for an abattoir's menu;
To ignore the meat and chew the sinew; The counting of toothpicks is numb by request; Some complain, Some struggle, some jest!
Thinking of refugees from the Sudan; Tinned like sardines on a boat to Spain; Children cry and are thrown overboard; Survivors are dumped far from shore;
This is humanity, insistently tragic; And by narratives tragedy is then re-framed.