The Beat City is wet tonight
Nature tried to wash away the filth
But the worms are still squirming
They always are
The little worms in their white shirts and ties
They can sit up straight behind the wheels of their BMWs
Someone yells
“HEY, FAGGOT!”
As I walk down the street
But I don’t let it phase me
It’s just their disease talking
It’s spreading
It goes from one free thinker to another
Turning them into mindless zombies
Willing to work 80 hours a week
For minimum wage
And be grateful for it
It’s all starting to feel comfortable
Normal
To make perfect sense
Hello, future
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