there was something at my ankle in the stream that i couldn’t see
here at a confluence of sorts or so it seemed but i couldn’t see
and the cattails can’t reveal my face, my feet glued to the stony bed of disgrace.
are you sure it’s worth the bother standing in the cold? it bothers me
we’ll all be working til we’re eighty-five years old, that bothers me
‘cause i’m funding your retirement with my tiny monthly wage
and you say you had a house and a car at my age.
suck it up, suck it up, put your best foot forward, leave a mark, come on
talk it out, talk it out, don’t you have any doubt that it’s your own fault
what you’re talking about
the heavens open and the whole sky fills with rain at every angle of the cross
i see the selfishness the lies and all the pain clearer than the cross
there are no good guys and no bad guys in any guise at all
how many bloody hallways til we murder them all?
your flesh will decompose just like the people that you kill
and pretty soon your grave will be a landfill