What solace will the spreadsheets bring,
When we’ve exhausted every mountain spring

What meaning will there be to mine,
When we’ve desecrated every holy land and shrine

What peace will come from years of corporate profit,
When for years we’ve let them do as they saw fit

What will be left when the short term has been drained,
When all that remains has been poisoned and stained

What label will adorn the ephemeral luxury of the wealthy,
When it’s no longer likely for the majority to be healthy?


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