Sputtering, stuttering, making excuses
Acting as if there were more than two uses
For the asphyxiated grey matter within
To think outside the box would be considered a sin
Assimilating ammunition knowledge at large
To undercut and stupefy the people in charge
Of the mass-generated complicational trope
That underestimates resistance in both focus and scope
To articulate futility of endless frustration
Simply pound your head against the desk in your isolation
Or pretend you’re writing emails to the biggest of cheeses
Instead of doing nothing like we’re full of diseases
And yet there’s still a glimmering, a flicker of light
That maybe someday we’ll be freed to do whatever we might
Oh yes, and heaven forbid it might be something productive
Instead of simply making money and ending up self-destructive