Such strife
The daily burden covertly burning routes out
We fall, medieval
In such times
Of soaring tech and wealth gap
Absolutely devouring whims
A sordid bunch and a fools' parade akin
The wheel turns
As if a rodent
Bewildered by it
Runs towards no goal
Ever tired
To finally die alone
And serve the rat king
Tangled unknowingly
Dreaming scenes of meadows out of reach
But dreams...
They twist, expand, and evolve
Daring to exist despite the challenges
If only one
Disheartened by high crimes
Forfeits the game to claim the prize
Behold!
Snake oil for all ails
Folks, divided and conquered by now
Chase the smiling traveling salesman
As, from afar, a butter ad glistens in red
Forlorn, disillusioned
Forsaken by the rulers of our time
The blood-soaked bastards
Whose names we cannot even guess
But can you guess what the line you've been in for so long is for?
The fair reward for all your worthy contributions?
A well-thought-out trap
The church of debt
Spreading, sprawling
Its roots of hate and death
Their god collects
The herd is dead
The calves come next
The slaughterhouse blooms