Why should I be bustin' my chops?
Sweating for somebody else's
crops
Where payment is grossly
under-fair,
Where dignity reaches the
edge and drops
Like a hammer crashing a pane
of glass
In a World obsessed by
position and class.
A struggle as old as
primordial man
Where strength and aggression
are played hand in hand
And survival had only two
classes, it's said;
Divided between the quick and
the dead.
But these days it's money
that seems to divide
Where the classes are
structured, how we decide
Who has worth, what has
meaning, who gets the bone
With the meat neatly picked;
who ends up alone.
Worshiping God on an altar of
green
As immortal worth becomes
ever so lean.
But truth is not fleeting.
Please, make yourself clear.
Our struggles are not always
as they appear.
The classes are self-made and
self-imposed,
And nothing the freehearted
ever need fear.
For happiness crosses all
boundaries and classes.
Contentment survives and
thrives with the masses.
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