Depression began to bite me.
I couldn't grasp the incredible drive
That people have to make money.
Like Afghan traders who walked their camels
On scorching sands to Urumqi;
Just to take some saffron eastwards -
And buy some bags of tea.
And Congolese traders who risk their lives
On deadly jungle tracks;
With heavy jugs of palm-oil digging
Right in to their backs.
Then I sold your stuff on Ebay,
As a temporary distraction.
And now I know their motivation
Was their sense of satisfaction.