written by Work Martyr
We’re just a bunch of monkeys
Chilling with a concrete sex appeal
Leaning on a trunk, and hanging on the steel
Hooligans hold the minds key
Isn’t that what all that fucked up fiction says?
Isn’t that why you took this animal into your bed?
Was it something else entirely?
A practical reason?
Lonely slept, attic kept
We were in our 100th season?
Like all things unclear I digress
Hunger and beasts the scene has always been set
There’s a limit to the things working men can get
Life’s a daily service of process
The comfortable masses all but name us criminal
Like anything about our struggle is subliminal
Which problems to address?
The monied are a gang!
But mob rules, duh fool
For love; sturm und drang!
I’ll do my best to draw a point
The faithless draw nearer to unadulterated truth
Godless, red there are no kings among the youth
But who should we anoint?
I’ve wept at the sight of the feet of our bridges
I’m a martyr among the country crumbling vicious Let’s kill the rich and disjoint
Marry my old spirit
This demon is fearless
I don’t ever know what I mean
You’d have to be stupid not to see the regression
Working poor, forevermore child of the recession
What can I do to be clean?
My rot wafts, putrid in everything but flesh
I’m not and never been sorry I must confess
Born to at worst dirty the machine
I always go willingly
Body and gears, volunteers?
Time to change things physically