There is a man in the Sahara right now, I assure you.
He is thirsty and hungry; I can assure you of that too.
While you’re complaining about the coming rain,
His blood-red, sun-kissed arms create a world of pain
That he survives with gritted teeth, day in and day out,
Whilst you blindly fail to recognize the clout
That you’ve expressed upon the fortunes.
He trudges through fields of cacti, over desert dunes
As you walk with clear exasperation up a flight of stairs,
And while his breaths shorten and his dry, ravaged skin tears
Open, you’re traversing down a mindless path, devoid of cares.
Maybe there’s simply nothing else that you know,
But you’re not in a harsh, merciless desert right now.
If only you would acknowledge that you’re living in blissful fatuity,
Living in beautiful frivolity.