Dear Mr. Man,

I hope this finds you well, up there in your high tower
Untouched by our unrest. Blessings and peace upon-

Oh, who am I kidding, let’s start again.

Dear Mr. Man,

How do you sleep at night?
You never do what’s good or right,
You blame it on the poor, whose life
Is already quite full of strife.
Do you truly expect me to pull myself out of debt
Without committing a crime, even if it’s just perjury
I would still go to jail.
I would still get a fine. That I can’t afford, unlike some that we know.
And what could I do about that? It just goes to show
You want the poor to stay poor, and the rich to get richer
You want everything to happen faster, quicker
Fuck regulation, you say with a grin
Is making this money really a sin?
Well, I’m sorry, dear sir, but you are quite wrong.
I only wish your convictions were just as strong
As the money that holds you up in your chair
5000 feet away from the people down there
You believe what you’re told, never arguing a bit
And quite frankly, dear sir, your opinions are shit.
Money talks you fat bastard, but that’s about it.
You don’t know a thing about life without cash
I’m pretty sure if you did you wouldn’t burn it to ash
Arbitrarily as a child, that’s all you are to me.

Sincerely,
A worker in a poverty-strewn city