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The merchants in the streets
Are pawning their own skin
And with every parcel peeled
The parasites move in
And make a home
And burrow deep
And eat their fill
Lest they be weak
And in the palace halls
Will the princes make their claims
For millennia to come
Both in grandeur and in vain
Their mouths are budding flowers
Over their own graves
Yet when they fail
We'll do the same
And in the endless marketplace
Are the harlots keeping pace
While now thrust into streets
They'll be one day paid to grace
Looming signs above
Concrete roads
The merchant's craft is patrons in droves
In the shape of love
But a lack thereof
Received in full:
The mansions they dreamed of
And yet Earth wasn't created to be vacant
Hidden in plain view you'll see pure glory
But in my flimsy heart live the merchant, harlot, prince
Our identical impulse serves as ample evidence
Of the great paradox, that massive wall
Evil in all but hope in all
So as for us, what shall we say?
Let us rejoice, for there is no "they"
