Born in a sinkhole,
Where money is made on petrol,
And geckos are plentiful,
So, best hope your names not geico.
This can truly be the life for…
Some.
Hold the beer, bring in the ***.
Thriving prostitution, right under God’s sun.
While the the streets flood with pollution,
Goodbye Captain Planet, end em with a gun.
A travesty that gets spun,
And put under the rug.
Along with other skeletons.
But as long as money flows,
The rich can keep eating beef Wellington.
Where most can’t dare to be themselves,
Like they May Sarton.
For those in poverty are deemed as burdens.
In a land of prosperity,
Yet got homeless people starving.
Sleeping.
In the streets,
If this land belongs to the meek,
Than why don’t they have a seat.
To the table?
Because those with privilege,
Are like Cain to their Abel,
Propaganda in tow,
Turning facts to fables.
It’s like Lao Tsu says:
Those who know do not speak.
And those who speak do not know.
So, how can we grow?
If we don’t water?
When friend turns to foe.
Where grass hides snakes and gaters.
If you want to find evil,
Follow the dough.
And if you want to find the traitor,
Look at who controls the labour.
