Yes in it I was nurtured
Inured with this needless torture
By these executive vultures
These tunes of being in irony
In my teenage years have I danced to in agony
Never experienced living in bountiful harmony
Due to this ruthless hegemony
Youthfully I hoped for a wind of change
Sadly blown away by men greedily deranged
Out of my finger range
In this land so strange
Now I am used to these potholes
Blind am I to them as a mole
In a city with conflict with electricity
My adulthood spent in gratitude to the generator's generosity
Now am all grey and old
Ripe to join the spirit fold
As I watch my coffin
Still optimistic of the future offerings.
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