I am a merchant who fills this land with the novelty and nonsense that withers wills
My struggle is to keep with what country demands, and family deserves
I put the bread in the mouths of my best and last hope that this name earns honor
It will be the first
I am a purveyor of bullshit and landfill, and broken dreams
Oh look how I've made an inheritance of others' ideas
Most of which should not have left their lips
I fear that my usefulness has expired
Yet you won't let me go
I am in a race to produce things to buy to eat things to make more things
I don't have the tools to withdraw myself
We are not hearty, we are usually fallen ill
Is it the tough conversations that warrant our stay?
See I am powerless and take no pleasure in hard battles of words won
But is this my story?
I struggle to love right here, the shadows that pass me by
Why should I leave my land?
I question the motives of those I should prop up on my shoulders and carry;
But not my own at ny time
I will not leave my land