In line at Tim Horton's,
A conduit for the money we 'make',
For further consumption,
But not the kind that gives you sustenance,
It spawns anemia,
Until your heart's used to blood, thin and weak,
Waiting for the intelligentsia,
As the keepers of our morality,
Left stale and forgotten?
If it was my responsibility,
It wouldn't be rotten,
Not that we're bad,
We've just no direction,
It is time to reclaim independence,
If just to remember we are human.