Chirping birds in the warm sunshine
A comfortable seat…without the incline
Testy waters flowing at breakneck speed
This is where I do my deed
The work involves constructing away
From a platform with a continuous sway
Ridiculous plans without foundation
Like a decree with a regional ration
As if the deed were not stress already
Others can hardly remain steady
What do we do if one of us does fall?
What do I know? It’s not my call
Feel it stab…feel it sting
Just one of ‘us’ doing his thing
Deep inside you start to wonder
Will my ‘own’ rip me asunder?
This is my state of reason
Catalyzed by the act of treason
Aided by bovine apathy
Guided by age-old pithy
Asks the alchemist at that moment
How long will you bear this torment?
Will you not their inequality decline?
How else will you build your spine?
Then does my wounded self speak
"Do not think me pale and weak
For even in the unsoundest moment of my darkest day
I’m the predator and they are the prey."
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