Crystal Cesspit

Gleaming city lights glisten off glass hills
Man always makes busy with pristine hand
Sharp-edged tongues touch jagged, crystal pills
Yet, there he stands, the porcelain man
Simply clothed with a white buttoned shirt
He calls himself “one of white collars”
Speaks no more than an introvert
Lives his miserable life pinching dollars
It’s always the same routine day by day
Gates are built tall so that no one leaves
Enjoy the petty life of disarray
Ignore the obviously amble thieves
There a man stands, the clear-cut despot
“Welcome to our home. Welcome to the cesspit.”

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