And the 99% still have dry bread, water,
To be grateful for, and to hungrily eat.
The party never ceases,
Champagne kisses, grinding pelvic thrusts,
Creasing designer jeans, stepping on suede toes,
Nibbling on hors de oeuvres,
Puffing on Dunhill-tipped death.
And still, the 99% go naked, cold, desolate,
While fighting for each and every breath.
The mocking intensifies,
Clad in leather, sailing in gleaming chariots,
Twisting gold chains, reeking of Eau de apathy,
Making sure that the 2 and a half kids,
Have had their evening meal.
While the 99% beg, borrow, gag and retch,
Praising the benevolent God who closed this sordid deal.
I don’t give a fuck,
I don’t care at all.
If they weren’t so bloody lazy,
They too would be here with us,
Browsing silk scarves in our air-conditioned mall.
“Get a job, start small, work hard”,
The advice is well-meant drivel.
For God looks down, testing the weak,
And with His infinite grace,
He blesses the few,
As they continue their winning streak.
I am an infidel.
I don’t believe,
That the merciful God would let mercy,
Be watered down so that it simply flows,
Into the gutter like milk through a sieve.
I am an infidel, and I do not give a fuck,
As I stand blindly and idly and impotently,
While all you do is crack open yet another oyster,
And down your throat you shuck.
I am an infidel, and I goddamn God to hell,
Till He acknowledges the 99%.
His children that are many,
not merely a few,
Till He starts to give a flying-fuck too.