Sitting here just me

Causeless western and free

In my imported misery

Felling o so guilty

For my self-pity

We’re running out of oil and it worries me

Failed philosophy

In some years I can’t see

Shit on TV

Find porn quickly

It’ll be only me

Lost world of virtuality

I know they’re dying elsewhere

Pretty much everywhere

But right here

Just an empty baby chair

That no one living comes near

In his infant face the barrel of a gun

What has he done?

A setting blood sun

Africa on the run

And that’s how the oil prices fell to two fifty-one

Killed asleep in the darkness

Flipping through the Sears catalogue for a prom dress

A stranger’s life means less

It sickens me to confess

My heart grows cold behind my fat chest

I see how the planet has changed

People become still more deranged

And I feel so estranged

Fragile wrist veins

My friend volunteers for the international army

Becomes my ideological enemy

Caught and executed on his pale knees

UN casualties

Broadcast on al-jazeera TV

The images won’t leave me

I would give anything not to see

More fuel for my misery

I rise and I go

Leaving without ever saying so

Feeling so low

Does anyone know?

Who runs this show?