by Nick Gisburne
The wealthiest among us makes a speech
To channel all the hate inside his head
A whiskey, neat, is put within his reach
He drains the glass, and quickly ploughs ahead
“If anyone is mad, it should be me
For putting up with peasants all my life
Your grief is not the shit I want to see
And now you think I killed her, killed my wife?
Look up, at me, the boss, the autocrat
Above you, that’s exactly where I am
I’m guilty of advantage, only that
The rest? The murder? I don’t give a damn
I own this crooked country. I am king
And you can’t do a motherfucking thing”
