I judge
my soul
nor mole:
a man
tis what saves,
feel like a slave
to rot.

the pigs
of socioty
feed,
feed on the scrapes
the scrapes of
a working mans dreams

he who filled
the moat
with no boat,
death comes
for the goat,
whos stuck,
little food,
no drinkable water,
the goat of my life,

stars arise
unlikely kids
the ones who ate from silver spoons
whos daddy paid
for a life of laid,
unlike the true people
people of the world,
the working class,
my class
of 2017
or the lower class,
at the line of poverity.

ceasars kindom
life less
and vacent
whos life and legacy
is soiled
by cheap pizza
and greasy bread,
that sits like lead,
might as well be dead.