Another year, but it isn’t clear,
If anything has changed.
I’m still here, but I’m no seer,
But not much is being arranged.
All’s the same, the same old game,
Played by those I see.
Who’s to blame, is hopelessly lame,
It’s all the same to me.
But I see a rift, which will probably lift,
My sprits as well as my view.
Through bad news I sift, our human gift,
To see things better for me and you.