Old Ones



The Old Ones sit in silence as a world moves around them

Streets full of death and hunger

Streets full of hate and thunder

Yet the Old Ones sit in houses on the hills

In the streets no one can pay the bills with what is made in the mills

Yet the Old Ones call a higher cost

A systemic holocaust

The Younger Ones have a future they can't see

A future in which they hold the key

Yet when the overwhelmed call for a lower rent

The Old Ones complain that the lazy have money unspent

Even when those dollars are meant to circumvent torment

The only thing the Old Ones see clear is Wall Street

All the people they will never meet

All the lives that will never shine

Why spend the time when there's a window through which they can see just fine

Rose-tinted glass lined with gold

Yet if only they could see the mold

Then how strong would be the views the Old Ones hold

Maybe then they wouldn't be so cold