128270

128270 is all that I am Merely a number no longer a man A decade of hope and honor and pride This machine has no compassion inside Our leaders, stockholder and managers entranced Lay havoc on each of us worker bee ants The poison the spill on the piles of our dust Is often confused for a new business must In hives and holes scattered and abound Lay us worker bee ants trying to make our day rounds The drill and the chore is all which in store And in the end nothing perhaps a bit more The leaches they suck on our blood like their due To engorge on the life-force of us non-precious few And us worker bee ants start the dawn of the day And in darkness return whence where we stay The bastards have lunches in high flying jets Vacations and ranches and blank corporate checks Smiling on all they view and think own Everything for a buck no matter who’s thrown We the disrepute the embarrassing child Churn in a belly of pure acid bile Rot and decay our lot in out time Treated as nothing but discardable slime And as Gary our heart and our soul and our light Dissolves into unconsciousness blight The leaders look to the terror sans see Ignoring all that is that which we flee