Philanthropist, you call yourself,
as you sit upon your throne and watch the city burn.
A philanthropist who would lay waste to all
that dare question you
and the way in which you treat your workers.
A ticket to the stars.
None of this will truly impact you.
We are merely the ants,
and you can always buy another farm.
There will always be more workers.

When you look down at a cold rock
destroyed by fire and ice, what will you think?
When you see a planet
ravaged by avoidable destruction
will you lament on how you had the power to save it
and yet did nothing?
Will you send your thoughts and prayers
to all those left behind,
bearing the weight of your crimes against the planet?
Will you even glance back at all?
Will you ever think of us again?
The people who died so that you could live
guilt-free and remorseless?

$3182 every second. You could change the world.

But instead you clutch the wallet tighter,
relying on fossil fuels and your underpaid, mistreated workers
to make you even richer.
Fly high into space with your fingers in your ears
and a straw in a barrel of gas.
Destroy another planet.

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