Old man sitting on the side of the road
Watches bewildered as the world goes by
He doesn’t get it but he does care
That this world is not, the one he once knew.
He chews on some bark, he whittles a stick
He has some time before its all past for him.
Around him the race is being run
He can’t see a winner but a lot of dust
A figure emerges and is then consumed
That’s the way of things it seems.
He doesn’t want to world burning up
There’s got to be more than destroying its soul
Its all about greed and give me more.
The old man doesn’t like what he sees
Waste, waste and more waste
Cast aside what is not useful
Build a new one, train a new man
Make the new the latest fashion
Ditch the serviceable, chuck it away
No belief in putting aside for a rainy day.
The old man grins away to himself
The radical larrikin is still inside.
He still harbours thoughts of revolution and change
And spits as he rises and shuffles away.
Back in his room everything’s fine
He knows his space and it knows him.