This feeble scheme, the complex Fiscally fond sheep in dejected mock love But with only lucrative darts Considering they land on the board Will the people cry, "what mores?" Stapling itself to every partisan angle of Order A cold cash culture deserts us in the communal Profane cinders... Cornered in a loop of rainy, ugly, brokenness Until the spending bends Its a limp evil that pines Without filling the sullied bowl, the reliced beast would starve... We idle in adorned time We succumb, are humbled, and numb