Finance Fuels the Sickness at Heart

I watch them fall just out of reach, I watch their plan get worse. I hear them slur their speech. "Pay my way, I can't survive. Pay my way, I can't exist. Pay my way, I'm tired of begging. PAy my way, I've all but unraveled, despondent and sick." Pay our way, we are sick of our part. Pay our way, we reach back for something to break a fall. Pay our way, we've been fucked from the start, caught unaware that finance fuels the sickness at heart. And these men don't care, all plush seats bright suits. These men will never care, they're in line to have their pocket lined. In step to have us underlined, thrown out, address to avoid, name enumerated, spit out and destroyed