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How can we make

An appeal to our gods

Guilt and self loathing

And selfishness and grift

For the right to exist

Without breaking all the laws

We are all mercenaries

We are all prostitutes

Living In a state

Of perpetual whoredom

And barely stealing

a paltry gasp

You are their servant

You are their concubine

Condemned for the remainder

Of your hollow, fleeting life

The craftsman pours his soul out

Onto a molten pyre

But in this life there will be

Never sufficient time

There is no bargain

That can be struck

With a bloodsucking leech

There never will be

A compromise

That will be honored

Life held so cheaply

Cheap as their word

So vapid and empty

We are subsisting

On table scraps

That they throw us like beasts

No measure

Of mastery

Will ever be enough

To satisfy

It’s all a fucking pretense

To keep you searching in vain

For a moment’s respite

From this living hell

Always beholden

To the caprice of

An aristocracy

Of cynics

Of careerists

Of opportunists

Stubbornly persist

Slaving over the fire

Maybe things will be different

This time around

You’ll keep on failing to master

The unforgeable key