Society is a house of cards,
Made up of jokers,
Teetering,
Collapsing under its own unease,
The decadence and cruelty,
They didn’t listen,
A house can’t be built on inequality,
And fools make poor craftsmen,
When winter descends,
Some will be torched,
To heat the hearths of the rest,
And as we all fall down,
You can be sure,
The top cards will elope upon the wind,
The rest will be mulch,
A pile on the floor.
WorldofHarley 