The Ghetto

They built a tower
A palace of iron, plastic and stone
All in the name of the Man
In days long gone of stones and glass
In days passing of fame and name
And on top, a golden cross
From its chimneys, unreachable
Flow sound and light… and glamour
They built an empire
Of plastic discs and paper hopes
Of empty tunes and teevee stars
Of cassette tapes and self-help books
The Man had no place to sleep
Their kings ride limos with sunroof tops
They built a ghetto
And speak a language known
But only unto their own
Jargons and phrases
And over-recycled clichés
What was to be given free
Now kept shut in dusty barns
The voice in the wilderness
Moulding in damp old cellars
While the lost ones hunger…
Fads, trends, something new
Rituals, mindless repetitions
Faith or selfish obsession?
They built the ghetto
Walls of pride, doors of apathy
But for those outside its gates
That Man died too…
And cries.