There is no storm I can't ride out
because I'm sailing in a pond
there is no drought I can't survive
because I sit at the foot of the river
there is no burden I cannot carry
my shoulders have grown broad and strong
in this land of plenty
and yet still my back is bent, my head hangs low
my eyes sunk in, my breath is spent
how is it, in a land of opportunity,
I feel so trapped, so wretched?
as if I'm in the slag pit, with an iron collar
no friends or siblings, mother or father
we've all been torn apart
in the pursuit of luxury
not even.
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