In a strange land
Where laughter, friends and love can be bought
Where everyone models after
A fake beauty shot

People lead a strange life where
The pinch of a needle can reverse
Age and the battle scars that accumulate
As though wisdom is some kind of curse

And a child is left
To wander strange streets alone
Lost, insecure, scared... but mostly hungry
As dictators sit upon tall ivory thrones

And in a few years this strange world
Will have nothing left to give, although more is expected
And its inhabitants are still resistant as they become non-existent
There is a disease and inevitably, they are the infected

I wonder why they won’t do something, anything
As the “few years” turn to months, then days
And now they panic, and in horror realise what they’ve done
They’ve focused on the worthless, meanwhile a weak world decays

And time ticks on, stopping not even for this strange, dominant race
Procrastination at its best, laughs the morbid part of me
As through their own ignorance they are now extinguished
Money litters streets that that child once roamed, now it’s free

As the world begins to reform I watch confused
At these obtuse beings, while trying to make sense of all this
And then I reach a simple conclusion:
Maybe to them, nothing was priceless.