Self-Indulgence Is King Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

We are living in a secular world.
Covered by secular politics,
We are given our secular families.
Nothing has any meaning anymore.
So, we spend, spend, spend, spend.

We spend little time with one another.
Self-indulgence is king.
Love is liquid, liquid love.
You can shop for
And dropped if you haven't got the money or the time.
It doesn't matter if there are two groups.
In this secular world
Those who are superior or inferior
Be on a different flight path.
Self-indulgence is king.

Ask any rough sleeper if he has any credit.
Upward mobility, and he'll say no.
The superiors don't look down or back.
Not until they, too, crash and burn alone
Democracy's spiritual secular nucleus is a big fat zero.
They've no meaning; their lives are empty.
That's when, clutching nothing, it all comes home.
Self-indulgence isn't king of a principality of thieves.
You better beg on your knees or lose that pious morality, please.