They’ll trap you in a corner
Pin you on the wall with their grins
Watch you struggle against their madness
and then their laughter begins
They look immaculate
in their velvet garb of deception
Always rejoicing in their mutual
lower level receptions
Constantly passing out ballots
To recast their vote
in another imaginary election
You get so tired of playing their fool
But all they propose
is another status quo school
You offer up your soul
But they only hand you some gruel
while making sure you leave
by the back door
You scream:
I’m no whore
As you slowly descend
onto their golden dance floor
