Children of Market Gods
Oh the sherbet of my youth
To climb trees
And run from bees
To bathe in playful streams
To dress up and be the prince of my dreams
I was captain hook
Marvelled at stories from my books
Imagination my friend, my dog blue,
A friend so true
Everyday an adventure, the sun was mine
And the snow, so special, so divine.
Now I am old, and the world can count the cost
The legacy of childhood which has been lost
What happened to the children I see?
Who have no time for childish things?
But love a world where nothing is real
Games of war and adverts galore
No magic dragons, or slop dosh pies
Just another mp3 and the must have zombie game to buy
Enthralled by what the judges say on X-factor
Emmerdale farm and holly oaks, such poor actors
Britain’s Got talent, and Made in Chelsea
Can someone help me?
Imagination is dead
Who will lead tomorrow?
All I see is sorrow
For books never read
For dreams that are dead
For children with a dull existence
A bottle of wine and East Enders their future subsistence
Brain cells left on the shelf
Along with the artist, the poet and Santa’s little elf
Lost is the childhood
And we are to blame
It is our shame
We as parents, forgot they are children
Call me a grumpy old sod
But one day I will continue this conversation with God.