The Inivisible Hand
The invisible hand that rocks the cradle
Also rocks the grave
The invisible hand of Smith’s fable
From a poor hand many gave
Sow the seed of greed
Young indeed
For this is no ordinary cow feed
But that which makes guttersnipes bleed
They suck from those that are dry
They profit even when you die
Away black fly away
Your vices I cannot say
For God would think:
“I should shrink
And kick your **** today”
Charlotte says away
But for pork you stay
“After he’s done
Put ‘em in a bun
And squash that spider today”
“Puppet master of death
Give me one more breath
I wish to be merry
Before the Styx ferry
And be buried with my wealth”
The hand is an apparition
But this is a superstition
For real men drain
their pockets in vain
To those in position
Copyright © Andrew Plath | Year Posted 2007
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