Vultures

by David SmartKnight, Cornwall, UK

Beware that vampire money vulture.
Him and his corporate monoculture
that sets profit higher than life itself
and sees interest as being the only wealth.
Neglecting all else he rapes and he pillages, 
denuding the earth and destroying villages:
waging chemical war, if he deems it not fit
as children starve in the name of profit.

And they'll say I'm mad - you better believe it
I'm hopping mad at the insanity of it:
the short-sighted bullshit that's spoken for truth,
while he bows and prays to economic growth.
Exponential growth? An illusionary dream
with a logical outcome completely obscene.
We can hide in our castles and then look away, 
but we're still responsible, whatever we say.

The great God of money - the search for the Profit -
like Midas' finger taints all that live off it.
Slowly strangling humanity right out of their breasts
as others are strangled that don't meet their tests
and yes, we feel sorry for wolves, and sad for owls
but how else can we feel safe from all nature's growls?
The Profit promises to buy us freedom and liberty,
and when it's safe and sanitised, well, then we'll be free!

And deep down inside we all know that it's shit
but somehow it's safer not to question it.
Though the name of this tunnel we're hurtling down
is clear to be seen, if we'd just look around
we'd rather avoid it and stare down at the floor
than be honest and ask what we're doing it for.
Do you want a profit? or a living? Only you can decide,
but the name of this tunnel is mass suicide.

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