finish on their faces

you filthy scum
stroking the balls of depressed slaves
masturbating the children to grow old
slowing the rotation of the planet
and force feeding modified muck
you call it food, I say mind control
manipulated to murder each other
then ourselves, slowly, bitterly
and okay with being taxed
every step of the way
the sun doesn’t shine, it bleeds
and moonshine dampens the sex scene