The ministers assemble in the grey,
To carve the futures of the poor away.
They speak in gentle whispers of the state,
While locking every righteous prison gate.
A decree is signed upon a velvet desk,
Making our daily agony grotesque.
They measure progress in the stocks they own,
And grind the public spirit into stone.
And when the hungry gather in the square,
They name the cry for justice “wild despair.”
They deploy shields and banners of defense,
To guard their hollow thrones of insolence.
