A Fly on the Wall
They gather in gilded rooms to plan our fate,
With jovial hands that legislate our plate.
They speak of "sacrifice" and "common need,"
A noble, crisp, entirely costless creed.
We’d pay a princely sum, should scales be just,
To hear the truth behind the noble crust—
The private chuckle, the relieved "Thank God
Those eager fools will bear the goad and nod."
But we’re not there. We watch from down the hall.
How sharp the teeth that grin to see us fall.
How sweet the honey when the powerless call.
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