From the balcony of my life,
That birds fly away so, so slow,
The activity some distant strife,
When life happens far below.

And all men have a landlord—
Some devil in a cheap disguise,
Selling them wars with a sword,
Rinsed through the same old lies.

I wonder how much longer,
This machine can wander on;
When nothing makes you stronger,
And all the lies are long gone.