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Mulambo

de Primitive

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

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