I sit here silent in my isolation
Pondering the question of my solitude,
Lamenting my underpriveledged status
Yet constantly reminded of how much I have
That others only dream of.
Alas... middle class...
Why couldn't I be somewhere else?
Are you too good for me?
Am I allowed to talk to you?
Where is my taxon?
Why this obsession with labels?
Fuck this methodology-
Lets get back to living...
When the rich are too rich and the poor are too poor
That my friend is the time of the class war.
Alas, middle class.
Why couldn't I be somewhere else?
This is thesis,
This is antithesis,
This is synthesis.
Sorry, marx was wrong,
Your revolution's been put off too long:
Industry has given way to service.
Your dialectic no longer applies to society-
Now what are we to do with your followers?
Kill them off (in proper bourgeosie style)?
Incite another menchevik uprising
Just so we can call in the peacekeepers and gain control?
What shall we do with this problem you've created for us?
Alas... middle class...
Why couldn't I be somewhere else?