Out Class

The pavement drinks the sweat of broken spines,
while marble floors are buffed with silver oil.
A child’s cough rattles in a basement flat;
upstairs, the penthouse counts its idle spoil.

The system is a rusted, grinding gears
that feeds on calloused hands and hungry eyes.
It prints the currency of deep despair
and sells the working man a pack of lies.

They draft the laws to lock the cellar door,
ensuring that the bottom stays below.
A gold-rimmed glass is filled with vintage wine;
A plastic cup is filled with lead and woe.

The distance isn\'t measured out in miles,
but by the thickness of a wallet\'s fold.
A life is bartered for a copper coin;
A soul is traded for a bar of gold.