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"Greased" by Eric Wayne Flynn

Updated on April 10, 2014


The Hotel Lobby

Filled with figures in action

On business, on vacation, on another planet

Aliens in my eyes

Squonking and squeaking, making noise

Communicating, or so they say

About their day, their lives and all they have to do

Their children's faces glued to screens, fidgeting at the table

A big piece of steak lay on their plates with a side of fries

Cold and worthless, dead meat, chewed up and spit out

Tapping on their toy awaiting their sundae, parents paying

No minds

Mouths shaped like dumpsters

Hands shaped like shovels

Brains full of shit

Blind empty eyes

They will run and bump right into you

Acting as if they had passed right through a ghost

Invisible, man

These children are the future

They are the lawyers, the doctors, the psychologists, the ones who control, buy and sell us all

What is it like to be one on top?

What is it like to have a silver spoon?

Dipping into sundae after sundae

As the heat rises and melts all the flavors of this world into a sweet indistinguishable soup

A sticky mess

Left for people like us to clean up

The janitors, the servants, the cabbies, the teachers

Living day to day

Prisoners of a system that rewards the little piggies

Greasy hogs that hide in the hills

You can hear them squealing

Conspiring on how to keep up their appearances

Dirty animals making a sty of this world

Gluttonous ghouls guised in Gucci galavanting through life

Without one care

Without one thought

For you or for me


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