A percentage of our yearly gain
Spent upon a perfect cause
An agreement between us valiant proles
To rectify our mortal flaws.
No man left wanting when fate attacks
His need met well and wholey
A learned clan of carers swoop
Their intentions pure and holy.
A pretty tale one would say
An idea so bright to light the road
So hard to step beyond the curb
To let this certain thing erode.
But like so many come before
Through changing tides and toppled kings
Wrapped between the cracks of change
Flying high with melting wings
The proles lie starving in their beds
Ideas not fit to stem their ills
The perfect cause a forgotten shade
Hope dashed againt the wall of shills