All the world's a suffering stage,
a dress rehearsal for a coming of age.
And I age, as I remember.
The tortured minds and bleeding hearts,
lives that capital rends apart.
And it tears, into the heart of me.
Eighty two million dollars spent.
But it can't make a man content.
It's just a price to be remembered.
The setting sun in a misty sky,
herbaceous borders begin to cry.
It's the name they remember.
A profit made from a piece of land,
around a hole the mourners stand.
For a moment, they remember.
Ten years on and prices leap,
rememberence doesn't come that cheap.
And I weep. As I remember.
CapabilityRed aprox 1986
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