A jungle made from concrete
Sweltering in the summer heat.
Another damn sleepless night.
There is not any relief in sight.
Warm beer on the fire escape,
I curse myself for being awake.
My last joint I begin to smoke
As slumber attempts are a joke.
The morning sun begins to rise
It is irritating my insomniac eyes.
Can hear the city begin to awake.
As I sit there completely baked.
I look down at the flood of suits.
Ties they wear are a fancy noose.
To suckle from the CEO's udder
Buried by the greed-filled blubber.
Their souls fueling the profit's fire,
An empty shell when they do retire.
Broken dreams filling their wallets,
And not a dime inside their pockets.
They work to live, and live to work
While their slave drivers only smirk.
Were meant to live for much more.
To be free; not a corporate whore.
No comments:
Post a Comment