It's like a conversation, where no-one stops to breathe
  Is it my imagination, or did God already leave the table?
  Such destruction, and pure white castles in the sand
  No time for introduction
  With all that money changing hands
  
  And the satellite says, “Take a look at all we have”
  But the old man says,
  “You want my family, for your liberty…I can't do that.”
  
  Look into the eyes of any patient man
  Whether they be amber, green or blue,
  There's a piece of God staring back at you
  But they see our children, and the old folk fend for themselves
  They see our broken women
  On imaginary shelves
  
  But the satellite says, “Won't you people look at all we have?
  Don't you want it?
  
  Can't you see the things that you lack?”
  
  Children in his arms, he turns his back.