The patricians on the hill celebrate,
Sharing a beer, lining their pockets with gold,
As the poor are condemned to death
For the crime of not having enough money.
Wealth and power their only goal.
Virtue, ethics, and empathy.
Just words they use
To get what they want from the crowd,
Making plebeians fight in the arena,
Pitting one set of peasants against another,
For their amusement and profit.
A house divided against itself
Cannot rise up in bloody revolution
Against its parasitic rulers.