Fight for Bliss

Money, money, money

makes the world go 'round

funny, funny, funny,

how it keeps us bound

Trapped at the bottom

screaming to get up

there is no hand reaching out

without an invoice; tough

Tough, they say, if there aint' nothing

in your pocket

keep on trucking

or does one even have a truck?

or is one twisted and stuck; in the muck

The muddy pool of dirt and grime

due to the slime-bags

of the time

they feel nothing

they feel nil

they don't care

if you have a chill

People walking barefoot

chattering teeth

underneath

in the underworld so deep

Can't get out

not without a dime

must figure out a rhyme

to build the dimes

Allocate, maybe

like a rubix cube

to get out of the hole somehow

to crawl out through the tube

Narrow and icky

like a sewer hole

it does take a toll

crawling through, weak and injured

Like a soldier in the trenches...

and there ain’t no benches

so why not ask the "vermin"?

they might tell you clever tricks

For it’s how they dodge their foes

and scavengers don't buy their mix

however, they don't steal it either

they're programmed to survive

to hold on; climbing higher and higher

They grab scraps

save dimes in a hard drive

Plan it out like a map

pack your backpack

for the ride

Like reverse entrapment

like solving a riddle

of the rigged, oppressive pyramid

for in which many are little

So pay with the dimes

collected with mass effort

and make it so rhyme

with things one can do for free

Somehow, amongst the abyss

and one day in time

we will no longer miss

out on a chance at bliss

April 18th, 2013

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