A heap of golden trash

To many it’s a pile of trash, which no-one wants or cares for.
To many it’s a pile of gold, which you’d fight and die for.

To many it’s their office, their computer and their files.
To many it’s a graveyard, of dead bottles heaped in piles.

To many it’s a pile of trash, which no-one wants or cares for.
To many it’s a pile of gold, which you’d fight and die for.

To many it’s a source of income, of belonging and tradition.
To many it’s an eye-saw sight, there without permission.

To many it’s a pile of trash, which no-one wants or cares for.
To many it’s a pile of gold, which you’d fight and die for.

To many of us it may seem silly, that they hold it so dear.
To many the truth is, that where they work, is what they fear.

To many it’s a pile of trash, which no-one wants or cares for.
To many it’s a pile of gold, which you’d fight and die for.

To many people, the world is such a kind, yet cruel place.
To many it seems the world they live in is a constant changing face.
A frown, a smile, a smirk, a grin?
All faces look the same;
In this endless rubbish bin.