Wouldn’t it be nice if you could give someone your name?
Without them going: just tell me your number, tis all the same.
Perhaps it’s a reach to have it forcefully tattooed on my forearm
While they all seem oblivious to all the harm
They do to those they’re supposed to nourish
And when challenged, they shout boorish:
‘Wir haben es nicht gewusst.’
Perhaps it’s seen as crass to compare their corrupt company
To the group of people responsible for the worst crime in history
Maybe a better comparison within this quip
Us, rowing to a drum, aboard their giant ship
Although many within her teach enlightenment and tolerance
Their words fall on deaf-ears among the apathetic audience.
Complicity envelops all those drawn in.
All the young ones staring at their phones are too busy to notice
They’re ransoming their futures for three island years eating lotus
Thrown back into the world with just a piece of paper and a lot of debt
Working it off to gain crucial experience through blood and sweat.
Finally grasping the futility and abuse of their chosen path,
Hopefully leveling the thing I would now: Wrath!
The common advice: just keep your head down and make nice…
Where is our generation’s Mr. Zimmerman
Whom, by writing, takes a stand
And rips us from complacency, makes us understand:
‘Come mothers and fathers throughout all the land,
And don’t criticize what you can’t understand,
Your sons and your daughters are beyond your command’
And they’re all going to stop buying into your brand.