There are too many people on earth.
Too many to breathe or even dance.
They can eat at the dump or the dumpster.
I’ll start my meal with caviar, I think.
Are five houses, a yacht and seven cars too much?
They are wounded, but they can still crawl.
My investments did well this year, maybe 8%.
They use every penny, every month
And still may not stay warm.
I’ve paid my dues, dues of the privileged class.
They must pay the dues of exploitation
Pulling on their bootstraps, but having no boots.
Someone else will care
Because I’m too busy being busy.
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