The Stuff of Apathy

The Stuff of Apathy

 

In lamentation of the truth

No home, you’re all alone, you’re scared

And they import the illegal s**t that soothes

Big brother doesn’t care

 

Search high and low for a job

You can’t find refuge anywhere

Abused, refused as a lowlife slob

And you know big brother doesn’t care

 

You couldn’t be concerned any less

Middle American life is fulfilling

Leave the world up to “those who know the best”

But this life doesn’t mean a thing

 

We’re the collective butt-end of a joke

Rotten, menial peasants of the kings

We learn when we begin to choke

That our lives never meant a thing

 

And I could b***h and whine all day

Or turn a blind eye and pretend

Half-dozen one, six the other way

It doesn’t matter in the end

 

They leech off our lifetime sweat equities

Then we collect our dividends

Living in the lair of enemies

But it doesn’t matter in the end

Reviews

[Thomas B. Buckman]

I like this.