Society is a being,
A breathing, living thing,
It’s skin is always cold,
It does not wish to let me be known,
For it needs me to fulfill its will,
But I want to abandon it so,
For it’s claws are deeply rooted
Into my fragile skin,
It does not care if I bleed,
But I cannot find myself in leave, for
It’d tear me terribly thin.
Freedom is an indifferent escape away,
But until one jumps, all will stay,
And so I will live out the same day,
Over and over again,
Thus is the wail of the proletariat,
Living as undying strays.