(R. Matsuo)
With millions of dollars and thousands of cents,
the cost of the cure is paying the rent.
And all of this talk of lives to mend.
This mission of mercy gets lost in the end.
We struggle to find our own resistance
caught in the lure of petty persistence,
Caring so much for nickels and dimes
when what we should be giving is a little more time.
The limits of life from cancer to age
won't stop the turning to a new page.
With millions of dollars to preserve a lifestyle,
not a second of thought to make life worthwhile.
A pill for the pain in a lonely bed,
an hour of hope with nothing said.
Donors and doctors work eagerly blind.
With all that they have, they need a little more time.
And for whatever reason your own life starts slipping away,
Would dollars and cents replace a little compassion that's lost it's way?
The millions of dollars and thousands of cents,
For what was intended, is not where it went.
This creature of comfort you call peace of mind;
Just give of yourself
and give a little more time.
