Commerce - Primitive Man

Cold

Shackled to

The bottom

Of the bottle

Of the socio economic slavery

That rules

And runs my life

Combust

Let smoke fill my lungs

Taught lies

Work to ruin

Infected with poverty

Left in the gutter

Over worked

Under paid

From a system meant to fail us

Nothing left

But to hang our hopes out to try

Hell comes home

From the time clock to the death bed

When death grips your hands

And kisses them goodbye

Remember

None of your work days mattered

A lifetime spent tonguing

The asshole of all your superiors

Nothing is real

But the inevitability of your cold fucking death

And your heart being ripped from your chest

Placed into the cavity of another worker bee

Another fucking wage slave

Paycheck to paycheck

Your essence is dead but slavery is forever