Proof if any were needed that there’s always someone out there who can summarise my thoughts better than me.
“Malady of the rich” you once were called
Our ignorance, perhaps, but just the same
For yes with the “haves” you pitched your tent
With “have nots” too but in Oblivion
Unbeknownst to us, a lifestyle thing
Of pies and fries, of bakes and cakes
High salt, high sugar, extremes, I’d say
Of sit and stare, no efforts, no sweat
Sometimes they say, I’m predisposed
My genes, my race, my gender and age
All strange English, I must admit
Can I have my life back please!
You’re huge, an institution, an industry I think
There’s special doctors too for you
Endocrinologists they’re called
Bagging honors over some sorry state
Of amputations, and stroke and heart disease
Of eye trouble, a veritable gateway you are
I hear you have a fresh new name
“The bitter side of sweet,” it’s called.