Money/Misery

It's mean when people make money from misery
It's mean when people make money from my misery
It's mean when people make money from your misery
It's mean when people make money from mass misery

In other countries the massive corporations
Give poorer workers only cents
And it makes a sick kind of sense
Because they normally get even less

Even in the western world they get us
We spend hundreds of dollars on beauty products
Selling an idea that we're not good enough
Time and time again, we think they're being honest

And it makes a sick kind of sense
Because we've all been brainwashed

Back to the other countries
People dropping like flies
Because they don't get paid enough to survive
And it makes a sick kind of sense
Because corporations are heartless

Even here people drop like flies
They die with 'not good enough' running through their heads
And that makes a sick kind of sense
Because their brainwash has consequence

This poem is about: 
Our world

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