Pull the fucking pistol out of your mouth
and pick up a
book
turn off that damn bourgeois television
and take a
look
shit’s getting hectic, brother, sure
But a bullet in the
brain, amigo, isn’t the cure
It’s too late for you, man, but what
about your son
What about his generation who’s been taught to
run
to stomp and tantrum and tattle-tale
suck the plastic flea
market and dodge bourgeois “hell”
imperialist sons medicated for
depression
A hybrid oppressor slash enemy nation
I’ll sell you
this for a gallon of that
Then starve the world and die of heart
attack fat
It isn’t the way it was meant
All these senseless
suicides ain’t some static event
the reasons exists - the “whys”
right here
Your casket costs thousands - payment plan three
years
sucking the fucking juice out of life - capitalism
then
profiting off of your death - straight sadism
Rent the church to
grieve you in
Buy the hole they bury you in
Pay the petty priest
to say some words
Then scribble on some gray marble how much it
hurts
Picking the pocket of the family that weeps
Dying’s
expensive while living is cheap
Business in death and death in
business
What’s the price, father, the price to miss us
