Lonely fern clings onto blackened brick/ Labile fronds rusted by seasons/
Hypnotised./ Mesmerised,/ Desensitised ...
The smog intrudes,/ It knows no locks,
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/