Be this,
not a country.
Be it,
simply a playground,
for the rich.
For,
even if they kill,
they'll be out on bail,
chilling.
No,
bounds for these soulless,
entities.
Nothing,
truly matters indeed.
Oh,
how I love to see,
these which deem themselves peasants.
Oh,
how I love to see such,
deem themselves present.
To,
work.
To,
slave.
To,
be on their way.
Oh,
how such,
shall forever behave.
All,
whilst knowing the rich,
cares not,
if they breathe.
For,
such beings,
simply seek,
to be thee.
To be,
one of these,
rich pointless beings.
These,
which take,
constantly.
Oh,
such a boring country.
More,
they want.
Why,
they'll never know.
Oh,
within such a useless existence,
be there no reason,
to hope.
Be there,
only laughing,
as each stupid entity,
grabs themselves,
a rope...
©yungb123
Y