When all our
jungle friends sleep,
we work against stream,
against them,
so when they wake,
they're damned
like the river,
mother's blood line,
until we have completely
stripped them
of their song, dance, prayer
and language,
then replace it with ours.
How do we say,
`Oh, so sorry.
Let us explain.
You must know,
this is the real world.
It's good business.
Demolition. It's progress.
Development, my pocketbook,
evolution's sake.'
You see, they don't need our
language to know we've sold
them
down the river
and franchised
our own souls.
Listen.