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Such strife

The daily burden covertly burning routes out

We fall, medieval

In such times

Of soaring tech and wealth gaps

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