The Dream was promised, / written down
in flame —
yet forfeiture now stalks / the open hand.
The rich lie laughing, / nameless, safe
in stone,
while strivers lose their wages, / marked
with shame —
the state collects / the pieces it has planned.

A hustler saves, / his dollars seen as crime,
the sirens flare, / the badge becomes
the judge.
The ladder snaps / for those who climb
in time,
and hope runs out / like pennies through
the grime,
the dream reduced / to ashes in the sludge.

The rich are born / with armor thick
as night,
the poor are branded / guilty when
they rise.
The law defends the throne, / condemns
the fight,
and every flash of freedom / sparks
its spite,
a dream recast / as fraud before our eyes.

No mob could scheme / a shakedown quite this wide,
no outlaw holds / such brazen, sacred claim.
The Dream’s been flipped, / its golden core denied,
a crown of ruin / dressed in holy pride,
the state itself / the thief who killed the Dream.