A stand on which to hang your hats
A land in which to kill your blacks
A captive audience to hear your tales
But don't capsize whilst you slaughter whales
Two hands with which to feed your mouth
 Never mind those starving in the south
 What a bargain, what a steal
 So many shadows for all your deals
You dress real sharp, yeah you dress real nice
 Don't dare you think we don't see the lice
  'We're a land of peace, not bloody toil,
 Oh wait - you say there's oil?' 
Our leaders magicians who distract the eye
  'Tis the youth who graffiti the world, not I'
 You can cover our art with colours bland
 But there is red that won't wash off your hands
You perpetrate the suffering of those you don't see
 So you can fill your pockets with torturous glee
 It's probably best you don't turn around
 When your golden ship finally runs aground
 When the sedated masses have all become sharks
 And begin to circle in the dark
 And at the last you'll wish you had paid heed
 To an oceans level that is rising indeed
 And those fins will draw closer in the night
 A very small step towards making things right