Boot Scraper

Watch the broken common man, drown his sorrows at unhappy hour. Dirty and sweaty, with just enough to get by. Calluses on his hands calluses on his soul, hard-boiled son of a bitch, scraping away on the down hill grind. It's a means to an end, a mean end for most. Death and domestication ends in shattered hopes, can't see the hand at the other end of the leash. Turn and bite. Turn and bite the hand that bleeds you dry. Throw yourself a bone, no one else will. Compromise leads to self-loathing, money the excrement of labor. And you don't get to keep shit, except politics and power trips and a bad breath down your neck. I know, for I have toiled in the halls of the mighty, and not received a teardrop in a bucket. Motherfuck it. The world doesn't owe me a thing, but you do (motherfucker). So crooked when you die they're gonna have to screw your ass into the ground. As life slowly unravels, with nothing to show but wasted time and dust, a thousand points of lies falling on the deafened funeral eardrums of the blind masses. Rise above, extract your life. Will you look within, then turn around and bite? Day by day the mask suffocates your life, is this any way to live? No fucking way.