I know more things than people.

Realizing this makes me sad.

To deal with the ache in my heart,

I go buy more things I’ve never had.

I give meaning to things,

That don’t mean a whole lot.

Which is the only reason,

I still own this old pot.

My friends have the same problem.

We suffer from the same neurosis.

It seems weird to suggest,

We don’t have to live like this.

So we keep doing what we know,

And we keep spending.

We keep on shopping,

And banks keep lending.

Until there’s no money,

And no more land,

Most other life is gone,

And we can barely stand.

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