Hands in pockets….

What of this state that we call death,
this coming of time you and I must
face it’s clear. We watch as others
young and old perish but could be
saved, my shame outweighs my fear
Why can’t we have a blind eye or turn
the other cheek, say, it’s only another
drought driven starving, no need for
us to speak.

Where are their leaders we cry slinking
away to the back of the crowd, it’s their
responsibility, we’ve done enough, and
my new X box is playing up for crying
out loud.

Ashamed, of course not, don’t you know
I’m Jack the lad, sloping shoulders at
the ready, I won’t hear of anything sad.
I’ve been like this forever, doesn’t mean
that I’m all bad.

You people are all the same, trying to make
our world sound crap. Tramping round the
globe with your egotistically driven map,
pointing at me and saying there goes an
uncaring well nourished chap.

So what if I’m not starving and they
poor buggers are, I’d like to try and
help but It’s Africa it seems so bloody
far. Maybe we could hitch a ride from
a passing shooting star.

No I’m not going to feel bad I’ll be
perfectly honest with you, if all those
greedy pigs with millions lent a hand
then perhaps I’d muck in to. Well what
if I go out have a few drinks and a laugh,
I always pay my due.