The smell of charred, rancid flesh,
The sound of laughter, blood red glasses rung,
And voices of unthinking cruelty (humor),
One gotcha and we're through.
If you're wounded you will have to play the fool.
The Jacuzzi steam is like a war zone
As the infinity pool dribbles like a machine gun
To water the Mandarin lime trees down
The hillside pomegranate red.
They're stealing the view from the sacred mountain
On the terraced marble of their great mausoleums
That would give the town's homeless a place to live.
All it would take is some real gratitude.
But despite the laughter and the perfect weather
Only sorrow echoes on the cold stone.
