Join in along with those stalwart bricks,
determined to build through every door and road,
until their impatient wrecking ball,
decides to see and collect from your failed hand.
Nobody’s going to walk barefoot anymore,
over your absolutely filthy pasture,
especially when you’re currently for hire,
whether you care is really beside the point to them.
You’re only arranged how they feel at this moment,
as you vainly tried for a short while before,
where the rules just apply to those who will abide,
otherwise become fuel in their hungry incinerator.
I’ll talk for the purpose of feeling insecurely proud,
harshly lopsided to your off and odd angles,
greeted prior to being left about those false books,
wide-eyed with the normal concerns ignored.
Gazing at my oily reflection inside your dirty urine,
always having to understand that there must be maids,
thankless without tips and coming to work each day,
cleaning one tiny inch upon realizing someone isn’t.
Once compounded out of its raggedly dark cage,
we merge with the airborne shiny packets delivered,
telling emotional tales stolen from thieves as well,
done with fiendish tricks across the lips in favor of hips.
Sharwrong's Song 