The Only Game in Town

Ride a rat through an open sewer,

all the way to the promised land,

parking spaces here are fewer,

than the refugees demand.

 

Pay the piper

for a piece o’

printed paper,

entry visa.

 

Step inside the hollow pleasure dome,

restare at stared to death exhibits,

the lights are on but no-ones home,

they’re fading fast with stared-at sickness.

 

Tiny ice cream,

two pound ninety?

My oh my, seems

kinda pricey.

 

There’s a musty opaque crust,

on all the things within these walls,

made up of memories and dust,

of every hostage it recalls.

 

Come on Monday,

see the bunny!

Family fun day,

bring your money.

 

Is this the great reward they promised?

Is this the worker’s downtime dream?

Eons wilting in an office,

for exorbitant ice cream?

 

It’s a stick up!

Press your buttons,

watch us switch up,

lamb for mutton.

 

Make believing you don’t know,

grinning as you’re shaken down.

Hey – where else you gonna go?

It’s the only game in town.

 

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