We are all data,
Little binary toys,
A horde of zeroes,
Leashed to digital space,
Simply prey to a carnivorous system,
Swimming like salmon through databases,
Pushing all of the opulence upstream,
While being picked off by bears in taxman gown,
We are just numbers to be counted,
A sticker book collection,
For some child in a highborn office,
A creature with a taste for silver spoons.
We all exist as credit,
Becoming farm machinery,
Biology has given way to economy,
Within that chest cavity lies no organ,
But a leathery wallet,
Never quite full enough,
Your lifeblood never stretches quite far enough,
You are your credit score,
You are your capital,
Currency is your life’s work,
Those above have deemed as such,
Neon gods and wall street angels,
In curiously lofty cathedrals,
Such is the half-life we now lead.
WorldofHarley 