A city is not a country, nor a port a home.
Commerce is not construction, nor exchange a trade.
No home is Singapore, itself it can’t sustain,
its body never settles, afar its spirit blown.
After the money god! Our lack must be atoned!
With edgy sacrifice, and competitive zeal,
For soil have we none, to grow our local meals,
Subject to winds prevailing, no anchor have we known.
Established by a contract, founded on a deal,
So Singapore arose, through a trading guild.
For trade we were made, our souls are sealed with gold,
To whom who bids the highest, to whom we are towed.
Rootless we are, our moneyed spirit flies,
As light as paper note, a nation belies,
But come that hour of judgement, when capital no more flows
And when all trading cease, and then- grow all we cold.