Woorden: The Arrivals. Blood Hits The Ground.

Now through the grades
The state paid aides when they were done with me
A tailored mind
The kind resembling fine machinery
The heels click ten times a day
He'll process seven days a week
Assign a tax ID and set him on his feet
Now obligations have your hold
We have those roles we must fill constantly
His star's on the rise
We'll plan the burial in his factory
That's when the blood hits the ground
I read a book
It had a plot about a government
That met untimely ends and left folks to fend their own
We did not drown
We did not starve
To our surprise
We did not carve ourselves into ranks
of task-fulfilled damned expedients
Not a paradise for all
But better than the promise laid to me:
Pot to piss in
And a national prosperity
That's when the blood hits the ground