PASSING THE HAT

Failed factories turned into a rusting silent cave,
former workers dragged screaming into a grave.
Unemployed and homeless man sleeping in his car,
freezing without a heater behind a burned out bar.

The money vultures still finding ways to get fat,
feasting off the poor they see as a vulnerable tasty rat,
crushing the hopes of needy with a liar’s baseball bat,
collecting their brains for food they pass around in a hat.

In the private plush domains of greed’s every dark palace,
they plot with cannibal passions another act of malice,
toasting their success with victim’s blood in a green chalice,
sitting on their bags of gold so cold and utterly callous.

Lifeblood of economy being sucked so very dry,
by the profit vampires who never hear a single cry,
happily devouring extra portions of the American pie,
ignoring the slaughtered lives while jetting in the sky.

Meanwhile the country’s fiscal health slips down the drain
with politicians singing their trust me off key refrain
adding new taxes to pad their pockets like they were rain
while the wounds they create cause working class only pain.

Ghosts of the sacrificed lingering at the business tomb,
eyes seen at night by a power broker in the bedroom,
using a lack of conscience as denial’s cleaning broom,
blissfully counting coins to neglect a sense of doom.

Democracy’s coffers turned into a mint mean for a few,
only existing for the wealthy to be soak up like a dew,
in their darkness of transients they still want their due,
as they butcher help like cattle for their avarice stew.