What do they know?

What do they know?

What do they know that we do not?
Their strange and empty messy lives,
their cluttered scrawls
on crude misshapen walls?

What do they know of Art and Science?
What can they see that we do not?
What is their love that embraces death?
How cheap is their life?

Their world is surely darkness,
ours is light, yet their bright colours,
their ceremonies, gold and death
itself
make our lives seem so pale.