Burn To The Ground

The market is a depressing place

Where hucksters parade their wares

And bourgeois clones fall over themselves

To buy artificial joy

I only want to go to Babylon

Just to watch it burn to the ground

In this setting of sham tranquility

Your dollar is your blood,

Your bank is your body,

And your job is your cross.

You are what you buy

Your value to them is your

Potential to be used

And worn out

If you can not produce

They will kill you slowly

By letting you slip through the cracks

And erase social programs

Giving the impression

That you died at your own hand

They will lessen opportunity

And bold faced lie

About your own uselessness

They will make it more difficult

As time goes by

For your happiness and success

They’ll increase their power

As they become more secure

And guarantee their control

Their money machine is now running smooth

And you can go to Hell

After all it is their noble duty

To protect you from yourself

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