Phillips Armed with the thought of being God I respectfully decline There wasn't really very much money And the work was awful hard But we'll get by By the skin of our teeth If we look at my denial Well now here we go We're still on bloody trial Filled with the scent of lilac gold And wandering bazaars Brought with love and simple chores From hoping lands afar Sent with characteristic joy A value that is lost, embossed While we sit here They are still Alive and teeming, millions Struggling for the right to life In desert homes of drifting sand Or darkly gleaming light Out in space No mouths to feed Just searching questing minds They find While they're finding They are coldly kind