Economics 101
When I go the market, let me buy real
For my money give me concrete things
Despite my money being a figment
Of all my work and toil
I do not eat fruit, nor wear clothes
Nor live in houses
That carry risks of hunger or nakedness
I do not want to be a nomad again
Pelt with melted clouds
Wandering on Wall Street pavements
Amongst the greed of callous hearts
They sold at the auction block
They gambled at the cross for a bloody frock
The market sells what it does not own
They sell bet
That my life will fall into debt
For all my labour from morning until death
The trade on my sweat
But I shall not buy my own tiredness again
I hate the risk of pain
And the silent clinking of the chain.
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