We're Just Lines In Your Pockets

You point at us and laugh

and say that we’re trash

while you make cash from the blood of our sons,

wash the stains from your hands, and sweep up the ash.

The factory-workin’ mother labors from sun-up to sun-down,

yet she’s fighting for scraps while you polish your crown.

And her children suffer; do you even care?

No, you sleep sound in your silk p.j.s while their cots are so bare.

This street-worn man lost everything he had.

He worked as much as he could to break even, trying not to be sad,

yet you’re so fucking cheap, that you had him fired

and used the money to annex your mansion while he sleeps in a tire.

Are you human? Do you even feel?

No, only money fills your heart. Your life is just one big deal.

There’s no love in your life, no kids to feed.

You’d murder every man, woman, and child, to replenish your greed.