People, all you people,

Probably just some, or most.
It's all prices and politics, policies, and rules, all those rules.
And laws, or not laws, laws of nature ,not man.
I would want to wish you all a great many things, but to what avail, kindness, gratitude, or just another acquaintance, spectator and player alike, all your trouble without problems.
You the few with so much, here's more for your mounds of extra, and to what avail?

It is not these things, it is not these things we brought in abundance, it is not these things we tax, or rule or judge, or pass, or

see.

Yes see.

Did you there, you all, did you the many forget the spectator?

For the eyes of the mass is you, the passerby , the swipe, the name caller, you the keyboard gangster, or how about you in your window to afraid of the world that you have helped make.

Where are you all the many, my masses,
my people, the human in you calls to the human in me, in them, in us, in ourselves to them.

But there are the policies there are your closed doors, we the few, or me the none, or fewer?

It is not what they make of you, but you, you, yes, you make you, you decide today what's tomorrow.

I shall call Thursday, this day, monday, and thus this has become mine. Not one unlike your own. But limited to your taxing on me.

The wall, is blue, 'the wall is white', don't force my reality to be your own. This is my life as I deemed.

So slow the hole ,the mass, that many, allow my life.
Our life.

Lives.

Life.