Darkness reaps the bottom of my heart,
Bound to servitude, this pain grows.
Struggling against currency is hard,
Especially when it is so easy to flow,
To exchange.
Even the best of us,
We fight, battle, and claw.
Treated like babies causing a ruckus,
Annoyed, they lay down 'the law.'
Thinking we're deranged?
Do not tell me this is for the best.
Do not tell me this is to make things better.
All you're thinking is that I'm like the rest.
You act like I make the money get out this gutter.
Am I made of money?
You act like you are better than we,
The people, pay you for you to be.
You sit on that high horse and charge me,
because of you, endless debt is all I see.
Isn't this funny?
