Compare the BBQ on the hill to Nero fiddling while Rome burned
The burning road with buses overfull
Old and poor folk crammed ,Calcutta like-
The burning road objects ,its tarmac boils
Swallows a man’s leg,this is no fake.
With hammer and a chisel he’s released
While others picnic on the fire struck hill
They say they do not see the clouds of smoke
If the wind turns East, those fires will kill
As they ignore the fire above their heads
So we ignore what we don’t want to know
That we may envy,hate or wish to kill
That hidden rages make our mood fall low
So as we each choose what we want to see
Argument is pointless, love is key
