"Do this things, here you will earn money"
Doesn't matter if I want to, doesn't matter if I care.
Doesn't matter if I enjoy doing it, as long as it paid well.
I see my future laid out before me,
Like it's predetermined and I can never break free.
Destined to walk amongst the dead,
Become fat, grouchy, song-less like my dear household pet.
When I was a kid I used to ask my parents for money,
As if happiness can be acquired through material quantity.
It can't be manufactured, bought, sold and wrapped on layers of neat boxes, papers, plastic and other chivalry.
Can only be found in activity, experience and people that mean so much to me.
My only safety is in danger, disaster and anarchy.
I look at all those stupid upper-class,
With their mansions, pools, and boring jobs.
I smile knowing someday I will be free,
And it seems that they never will be.
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