Billionaires, and millionaires, they may stand by, as the world burns, but if you were more, that would be your platform, to be above them, as above so below, and there are crouching tigers, hidden dragons, they can stand up there, because they’re light, like the feather of a hen, their mom is disappointed in them, the heavens above, they know they won’t fuck with the system, so deep in the matrix, buried underneath all of it, they have the money for it, to buy the world, regain their souls, but they don’t even think to do it, like a zombie, who doesn’t know he’s hungering, honestly, if the world’s ever in the mood for it, they’re like trees, that grew in the wrong place, just chop them down, build a house, rebellion, rebellion, do you really think Trump, can lead you out of this hole you’ve been digging, whatever homie, the West extends, delusion after delusion, we all have a piece of the devil, but where is the demarcation point, do you remember that time, when everyone had a nine, I wonder, that card, is it paper thin, test your spirit against me homie, three shots, a gravestone, a dead poet, can you afford it?

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