Bus drivers and plumbers don’t start the wars The nurse or school teacher too busy inured What's common among us with tasks to withstand The elected entitled our blood on their hands Without a real job and whose terms don’t expire They poison the well with aggrandizements dire To them it’s a game that they cannot lose Their voters just pawns in a continual ruse But one day the reaper with sickle in hand Will come to reclaim what’s stolen bedamned And the serfs will rise up in an infamous rage The despots left burning —their ashes in shame