beneath the surface
there’s a foul boil
the stench of misery
in print ads and garbage
we a society
but only the forgotten section
we a society relegated
to a profitable charity
intertwined socialist
dreams of those
who when the clock strikes 5
can go to the comforts of a capitalist home
and what of those
who we march fists up high
righteous rage feet of clay
where are we where were needed
come with me surrender the pickets
exchange them for strong arms
to give them so they can give us back our hearts