Armed

Armed with the thought of being God
I respectfully decline
There wasn’t really very much money
And the work was awful hard
But we’ll get by
By the skin of our teeth
If we look at my denial
Well now here we go
We’re still on bloody trial
Filled with the scent of lilac gold
And wandering bazaars
Brought with love and simple chores
From hoping lands afar
Sent with characteristic joy
A value that is lost, embossed
While we sit here
They are still
Alive and teeming, millions
Struggling for the right to life
In desert homes of drifting sand
Or darkly gleaming light
Out in space
No mouths to feed
Just searching questing minds
They find
While they’re finding
They are coldly kind