We have been big for far too long
Time to be small and mad and mean
The world found us way up the sky
We long for a place in a heartless hole
A heart too big
Becomes a fatal problem
A handshake too eager
Will sprain the elbow
We baked our bread
In our home-made oven
With our own sweet wheat
And our generous sweat
Now besieged by a horde of spongers
From hungry regions and wretched realms
With long, long knives and devilish forks
Our bread in peril, our fate at stake
Yes, this bread we hoard
Its wheat was grown by slaves
The fortune we so loudly extol
Was extorted from weaker regions
But that is a tale for the doting pastor
And those bleeding hearts
Called the Conscience Gang
The era of Kindness has come and gone.