Oh weary is the world and weary is the way –
As I tramp over my once rich pastures
I wonder what I have to do to be blessed
With all the riches that go beyond avarice.

My children are born and then they slowly die.
Will no child of mine carry my genes onward
Must everything stop with me because I lack
Even the very means to keep my flesh alive.

And it is that life for so many is awful,
Horrid the way we live and horrid how we die.
Do you, fat and sleekly smiling give a single damn
Or even half a damn as you condemn us to hell.

You do you know – oh you mean no harm to anyone
Just a fact of·life old boy – you were born here
And I was born there and so the silver spoon
Remains always in my mouth and my child’s mouth.

We have to do something to make it come right –
It is so fearsome that we never want to share.
Yet they have as much right as we to live on earth
And enjoy all the wonders that light our lives.