Trol

With just enough to get by.

Calluses on his hands calluses on his soul

Hard-boiled son of a bitch

Scraping away on the down hill grind.

It's a means to an end, a mean end for most.

Death and domestication ends in shattered hopes

Can't see the hand at the other end of the leash.

Turn and bite.

Turn and bite the hand that bleeds you dry.

Throw yourself a bone, no one else will.

Compromise leads to self-loathing

Money the excrement of labor.

And you don't get to keep shit

Except politics and power trips and a bad breath

down your neck.

I know

For I have toiled in the halls of the mighty

And not received a teardrop in a bucket.

Motherfuck it.

The world doesn't owe me a thing

But you do (Motherfucker).

So crooked when you die they're gonna have to

screw your ass into the ground.

As life slowly unravels

Rise above, extract your life.

Will you look within

Then turn around and bite?

Day by day the mask suffocates your life

Is this any way to live?

No fucking way.

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