Locked into the Corporate Grid


Scrapped together,
The old chairs
Turn off the lights
Let’s bring the focus
Through the windows
The broken glass
Steals the evening shade
The comfort of the sun
There stands four olive trees
Some say it’s fabricated
Some say it’s real
Dropped in an island
Of cement and gravel
The speeches begin
The discourse, the tremendous rush
The monotony of voice
The old ways to create emotion
How to rob and steal,
From the downtrodden and in squalor
In a world that is civilised
Where words are beautiful
The perfect toast
For the perfect kill
So clear in its emphasis
The temptation of the future
You cannot run away,
You cannot hide,
Strange are these terms and concepts
The great traits of leadership
The more you steal, the less you borrow
Let’s write the new history,
The imprints of our reach
Hardly a whisper as eyes wide shut
No question asked
As the old graphics of fruit begin to turn away
Gripped in this depression
The fear of failure
The voices continue
We are the best,
Traders of commerce and greed
And the world is yours,
Only the promise you make
Of allegiance and loyalty,
We will do the rest.

KASHKIN

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