The people anxiously crowding 
the over-populated times
will never be reconciled 
with people of flourishing times.

One counts life as cheap, 
for the other it is precious.

I have been surviving
through no fault of my own
as a factory farmed animal
in an over-stocked pen.

Decent folk must be unaware
of what these conditions entail.

In the spinning galaxy's good time
one group has the chance to live
while the other fades to memory,
onward spins the merry-go-round.

Recollection must then grow weak.
Would the fair group give way to the foul?