The rich and powerful, forever high profile.
Strut the world stage, with their public smile.
Ego's so big, collecting accolades and awards.
Some even sit, in our "House of Lords".



Surrounded by staff, that appear so smart.
Repeatedly proving, that they have no heart.
Tending this icon, their egos they feed.
Trying to impress us, and pretending to lead.



Political, business or entertainment idols so remote.
Simply take your money, or ask for your vote.
To the quality of life, just what do they add?.
Precious little I see, and I find that sad.



Is it them that labour, within these fields?.
Gambling their sweat, as they pray for good yields.
Providing your food, and for millions more.
Retiring each night, muscles aching behind their door.



Is it them that tend, the old, sick and infirm?.
With a nightly vigil, their love to confirm.
Providing attention, with a warm loving touch.
Silently proving, that they care so very much.



Is it them that will pay, the ultimate personal cost?.
To fight for democracy, so your freedom ain't lost.
Experiencing the smoke, sweat, blood and tears.
Living and dying, with those constant fears.



Is it them that provide, the orphan with care?.
Counting not the cost, as your home you share.
Your meagre resources, spreading ever so thin.
When your only reward, is a child with a grin.



Emerson, Lake and Palmer, experienced a vision.
Composed this tune, to provide recognition.
For the quiet folk, simply doing the best they can.
For they deserve this, "The fanfare to the common man"