Tyroga

Teachers, screachers, Sunday preachers.
Yes they’re all the same.
Happy to agree with you if you play their game.

A cold night falls
A person calls
Troubled with fear
Only he can hear
For no one else will listen.

On the street will he die?
Or will he only cry?
He knows he is alone
talking in a flattened tone.
For no one else could care.

As he sits and he cries
A pain runs through his eyes
Why am I here?
He thinks and sheds a tear.
For no one else is around.

His home is on the streets
He fights for what he eats.
When he’s in the mood,
He’ll steal to get his food,
For no one else will feed him.

It came for him at night,
He really had to fight
He had to be brave,
Life ending in a grave.
Which no one else will see.

Doomed days on the horizon,
Fear rises with the sun,
The Earth has no resources,
We’ve depleted every one.
A hole above our heads,
In the skin around our world.
Our forefathers called it progress,
A grim future we’ve been hurled.
Build bombs of mass destruction,
To kill off every man.
Why destroy all life?
Just what is your plan?
Pollution on the beaches,
We watch the sealife die.
Pollution in the wind,
Can’t even see the sky.

If now we try to change,
If now we turn around.
It’s possible we might do it,
Bring life back to the ground.
Replant the once gree wilderness,
All life-forms free to roam.
Bring greenery to the cities,
Of the planet we call home.
Mother Earth, oh please forgive us,
We have no real defence.
We’d have seen it was all wrong,
Had we any sense.
Stepped back to see the outcome,
Of choices that we made,
Without your permission,
We watch the species fade,
Into non-existance,
Never seen again.
Their blood is on the hands,
Of every living Man.