Just like ants we dance and dance
But where are we really going?
Sales helped your boss buy his hoss
while mother’s problems are growing.
Top floor office with cedar and oak,
You wake entitled and proud,
While families starve and soldiers miss birthdays
and forests burn to the ground.
“I can’t help, I’m only one,
My face can burn under the sun,
I’m not special and I’m not rich,
I understand you sleep in a ditch,
But that’s your choice, you brought you here,
No I can’t just lend you my ear,
Not a quarter, not a nickel,
I didn’t put you in this pickle,
I’m have somewhere to be,
You’re a delay, can’t you see?” Priorities.
Copyright WB Welch – All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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