Is the Stairway to Heaven
Built out of gold?
Of precious metals,
And of wealth untold?
Or is it pills and bottles to buy,
Remedies to get your extremities
In place before you die,
A curve here, a pearly smile there?
Or is it a piece of paper,
With a shine to it, and a man’s face
with powdered hair?
Maybe it’s a rock, a crystal …
Oh, but why does it matter?
The stocks are rising
And people are buying
There is no way to hear
How the children are sighing
The next generation. A garden of fools.
The next batch of your building tools.
To construct a stairway
To chisel and to grow
A way to heaven
A way for you to go.