It's nearly December.
We live in the land of the sweet never never.
The currency is destitution, as the poor man bleeds to death, or even maybe starve.
Wealthy governments crow over us.
The little folks.
The simpletons from their high ground perches, surveying the paupers in a so called wealthy nation.
The fat cats get fatter while the workers waste away.
They find themselves hookers and feed them with worms.
A little protein perhaps?
Nothing's getting better in the land of the never never.
(C) Livvi