All the St John’s Wort in the World

I gaze down at my navel and see a silver spoon
Oh God I hope I catch my death I hope I die of something soon
The sickly-sweet seasoning of privilege is in everything
Is in all my fattening food
I'm a glutton for nourishment

And I'm ready for my punishment
I've tried and I've tried
To justify the advantages I've been afforded in my life
But I come up short every time

Freeze and seize my assets
Share them out amongst the needy
Despite all my self-righteousness
I know that I am far too greedy
I cannot reconcile
My actions and beliefs
So I put myself on trial
And I find myself guilty
Doctors complicit in denial
May diagnose a malady
Dish out potions and prescribe
Cognitive behavioural therapy
But

All the St John's Wort in the world
Will not cure my weltschmerz

Some things are meant to hurt