A heap of restaurant chairs
weighed down the old red Chevy truck
criss-crossed by a nonsense of bungee cords

What a heap of sadness
weighing the workers down
criss-crossing each other in masked silence

The sad eyes of the restauranteurs
as the weighed down truck pulls away
with their hopes and dreams, silently

Eyes resisting tears
pulling at all the strength they may have left
hoping their home isn't next

It's a tearful Christmas despite all the good cheer
leaving behind hopes and dreams in a viral haze
it's hope that makes a home; money, only a house

They nickel and dime me
So money can't find me
While debt keeps climbing
With inconvenient timing
A note reading foreclosure
Spells my doom
As a realtor's brochure
Sells my room
Poverty looms
Over my head
As everything is taken
Even the bread
And what I use to bake it

They come with a gun
Demanding that I run
They tell me I can't stay here
Police presence engenders fear
So this place I once held dear
Will no longer be near
And the bank
Maintains rank
Over the poor
Locking the door
So I hit the floor
Hatred in my core
I adopt an attitude
Of eat or be eaten
This simple platitude
Will get me beaten

Money isn't that hard to make
If that's all you're trying to do
Yet they take all they can take
Like they've got something to prove
They don't mind
Separating bees from the hive
Power is control money buys
So the rich are seen as wise
Even if they're destroying the world
Forcing families from their homes
And now the rocks they hurl
Are delivered by drones
From lethality to loans
We're stripped to the bone
And feel all alone
On a planet of exploitation
It's tough to live the full duration
When we're stuck at a bus station
Called placation
Where the wealthy do what they want
Because they have money to flaunt
Giving them status and power
To build their ivory tower
By evicting delinquents
And bombing huts
A dog-like sequence
We're treated like mutts

The cumulus accumulate
Usurping heaven's gate
Creating a second rate
Decrepit estate
For us to deflate
Into a state
Of hate
And wait
For a mate
To feel great
So our slate
Has low weight
But once it gets late
We ask for a rebate

We run for the frivolous
But that fun is insidious
And it's slowly killing us
From emptiness filling us
We withdraw into shells
Of similar mundane hells
Until the bank comes knocking
Then into the streets we're flocking
While they're progress blocking
And pistol cocking
We kneel and worship them
Begging for mercy
They're the problem's stem
Yet we wear their jersey
Which is absolute insanity
But money controls humanity