It’s all just one big con isn’t it? Work for scraps, to buy food that poisons you, to run a car giving you cancer, never able to truly save up for that rainy day that we’ll never see once the mushroom clouds have burned out our retinas
Bossed into breaking belligerent backs,
Just to pile more onto offshored stacks
Undress of my will
To face balances, bills
Pay it forward
Till the balance is backwards.