I build their dreams
And watch
The disintegration
Of my own
The blowback coats the lips
That I press on a cold grave
A plot I have paid for in time
Stitch my heart onto a time clock
Enslave my devotion and shackle me to hollow ideals
A spreadsheet for my indenture
A smile for every time they spit in my face
The poor man’s burden
Nothing else exists when I’m in this fucking hole
An outside world I am not invited into
That has forgotten who I am
The grass is never greener
Things can always burn darker than the dollar bills
That flow through the bloated veins of commerce
Greed-a plague on our fucking city
Control them with financial suffering
For it rings tried, tested, and true