This is for the struggling, lonely masses
Hold the world by its gauzy wings and smile
Delight in the turning, churning chassis
They labor, so we go through the turnstile
What does it mean a child do deadly work?
To die for the sake of mass producing
Walmart’s sales racks of cheap, five-dollar shirts?
To save, save, save—is all our mere choosing!
Thailand: brothels of prepubescent girls
New York to San Fran want their weight in gold
Sex tours for horny U.S. and Euro trolls
Nations want firm flesh to be bought or sold
Eat the meat of silent children and sigh
Not yours, you think, don’t even care, or try