I don’t really like to play the victim,
But I'm being failed by this system
7 hours, a hostage to cinder block rooms
With nothing to do but let myself be groomed
Into someone's labor source  

If I don’t have money, I cannot live
But nobody seems to have a thought to give
To my Life being turned into a commodity
Something to be owned, taxed, a luxury  
That sometimes I’m not able to afford.

So much stock is put into democracy
But we don’t matter to bureaucracy
Unless we use the paychecks earned
From the Liberties we burned
To fill their empty promises

They call us ungrateful and lazy
For recognizing that this life is crazy
And resenting all the thought and time
Spent in the Pursuit of a rich man’s dime
Instead of our own Happiness

My mind is an almost-lifeless waste
All around is evidence,
Barely-there impressions
Of feelings only just forgotten

They tell me that I will be happy soon
That excitement will bloom lush and fruitful
That passion will light these silent hills
But when I look across these cracked and mournful plains
When the rains shower me with bitter disappointment
When the winds freeze my interest into apathy
I think,
Surely not

They think that all it takes to be
satisfactorily enlightened
is to leave behind a possession or three
and feel what it's like to be frightened

These rich, wise men applaud themselves
for thinking such deep thoughts
while, deprived of their least favorite couch, they delve
into the world of what it's like to have-not