Hold me up

With the sharpest of knives

So that success is not

A working right

But rather a gift

Given by those in charge

Who control who makes it

And who is broken and

Destroyed

With these knives they

Pay each other 10 million dollars

An appearance

While most can not pay the rent

And yet we worship these fools

Complete and utter fools

Running away with the keys

To our lives