My boss is a shit bird, I shall not want (to know)
demanding I make him green dollars:
he places me beside still workers.
He's destroying my soul; he forces me down
the chute of emptiness for his brand's sake.
Yea, though I work in the building
of the very inept, I will make no effort
for they won't pay me. Their greed
and the staff belittle me.
He begrudgingly tosses crumbs at me
like a frenemy: he burdens my back with toil,
my time's running out.
Surely glumness and privation shall
shorten the days of my life
and I will rot in the ground forever.
Are You Reading Me?
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