“Every dream you’ve dreamt, you bought.”

There are places in the world where the lights don’t work.
Places where money’s worse than tight.
There are places where the rain never pours.
Where they don’t eat or sleep at night.
All for our designer clothes.
All for a nation on designer drugs.
Places where the citizens kill to learn.
Not shoot up their schools in an attempt to burn an image into the news watchers brains of a supposed problem of bullys and scars.
Cry baby, cry.
They don’t fight to fight.
Their words are for speaking. For communication. For life.
Words of real pain, hunger and strife.
Places where they’d kill for food to eat.
But there are places where they kill food for looks and frolic.
People with toys under their pillows that pray for a fight; Sick.
A land that was mis-labeled “Free.”
Where they punish people for their “wrong” creed.
Or place of descent, their blood, their inversion.
“There’s really no bigger thought of perversion.”

Selfless acts taken for granted by “self.”
All that is wrong. All that is wrong.
A time when there are places too close to hell.
All that is wrong. All that is wrong.
Places where you are better off stuck in a cell.
All that is wrong. All that is wrong.
A time and a place where nobody’s well.
All that is wrong. All that is…
…Tied around your neck while you sleep in your house.
On a Spanish named street in the poshest of towns.
A sign of the wealth and the money you bring.
Your car, your shoes, the body you’re in.
It’s a place where the streets are paved in gold.
Laced with diamonds, from a cave, where they’re sold.
So that you can look pretty with the blood that you stole
from the diggers who have been digging since they were 4 years old.