We used to fan ourselves under the bright green trees,
See a clear reflection in the crystal seas,
The globe, it was ours to humour our ways-
But it is not now as in old days.
Shaped to the needs of our suburbias
Run dry, like eyes depleted of tears
The sun down at us, with a hostile sneer.
How strange they say where did we go amiss...
Oh they never discerned it would come to this
I said to them how good bleeds out-
But the glasses did not carry clout.
I wasn’t one to embrace the timber as I never claimed was so,
I watched idly by, the overt dissolve of the long exploited glow:
Now inquire, did I enjoy the vacancy?
Or simply find no clash with destiny.