So, next door there were these trees see/ Nothing much to sing about/

There’s a global consumer that lives in this land. Believing that cash buys him power in his hand

Our brand designers/ who art in fashion/ Hallowed be thy names,

My clever child,/ Oh how you’ve grown,/ But always I’ll be near.

We are adrift/ on a vast ocean

From Wynyards Gap the livelong day/ We beat afoot the Northward way/ We had travelled times before.

Clap for those who are suffering in silence/

To the echelons of power, wherever you are/ It is not too late to turn, please

All capitalisms are equal/ But some capitalisms are more equal than others

Wind-blown, sprawling beaches/ strewn with driftwood interwoven with picnic wrappings