The pressed steel sky

The pressed steel sky

Is as cold as ice

Tempering the effects

Of a white-hot sun

Too low in the sky

To be of any real benefit

When the fire goes down

Bellies cry out for more

Than thin gruel

Bread as hard as the stone worktop

The dough was rolled upon

Mother nature can be cruel

On the disaffected

When compassion is absent

Refusing to bend

Is seen as sedition

Rebellion an easy label

To tag onto the dissatisfied

Who are the bottom feeders?

When the high life

Is populated by lowlife

Refusing to share their good fortune

Shipping out the disloyal

Alienating the rebellious

Exporting the insubordinate

In the manner of old colonials

Whilst building their own

Personal rocket, boys

Visionaries are lauded

When their stock rises

The powerless

Are discounted as a burden

God save the money maker

For they shall disinherit the Earth

As it lies impoverished

The dispossessed will

Be left to their own devices

Which will continue to work

Until the next outage

Becomes the last

Mother nature can be cruel

But is never thwarted

The moon is never moved

By a spring tide

The Earth ploughs its own furrow

Make peace

While the sun still shines

Find direction

We are all passengers

In need of a destination