They hold it
They hold it in their thumbs
They hold it in pieces
A great law by whomever
So we will not be cheated
But a handful of people come together
And pat the backs of few,
Grease the palms of some,
Stroke the egos of some,
And buy the thought of others with empty promises
These are people who are in a car they want flying,
A car they can’t afford crashing,
The only car surrounded by trekkers,
Who do they turn to when fixers are far away?
They sell their car anyway cheaply to crap dealers
When they are in it
Then they complain of heat,
They complain of the receding speed,
They complain of the unknown noise,
They complain of the fitters hired,
They complain of everything when they should have
Foreseen the calamity that forced ancestral humans
To break the thumb powers into pieces
Sharing them to every household for safe keeping.
Keep mute!
It is your car; it is also his car
You all sold it to those who are taking parts for themselves
To build grinding mills
Deal with it.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2014.
(Picture taken from askelvins)
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