Wealth is a sick man’s game.

Toiling in the fortress in their complex, to our employers we are faithful.
A number arises and there’s a spark in the eye, obscuring the vision, clouding the mind.
“I am the authority on who deserves what.
To continue your prosperity, you’ve gotta pay a little cut.
We’ll be ruthless and cutthroat and get what we deserve.
We’ll remove each tooth from each swollen mouth and finger at the nerve.” When a hand makes a fist, sometimes knuckles crack and break.
When that fist strikes the ground, the plates will shift, the Earth will shake. Knuckle bones now exposed—true intention, self serving goals.
Bank accounts that tell of rape.
The plates will shift, the Earth will shake.

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