We’re working class
Rendered timid by timocracy.
Expected to pull ourselves out of the bag
After we’ve been given the sack.
With no dough to make bread
We’re no longer able to earn a crust,
While they get a rise out of it
Looking down on us with their heads in the cloud.
We’re fit for work,
But didn’t fit the work.
We’ve got the skills for the job,
But not the skills to get the job.
Rather than sign on the dotted line,
We cut across it.
Wearing our skins to the bone,
As we wear ourselves out,
Hoping to keep up in the long run
While we starve in the short run.