War and capitalism go hand-in-hand,
If they had any musical talent I'm sure they'd form a band, 
Songs sung to a jagged beat.

Keypad generation, occupies every financial district of every nation
While the well-fed elite eat-up the poor, no jobs or opportunities knocking at their door,
They're alone, a falling wage, a rising bill,
Whilst cries of jubilation and laughter emanate from the money hill.
Who took the gifts they were promised? 
Did their educators fail to assert the need for connections?
Are the only opportunities profit-derived loan extensions?

Money, the mechanism of exchange, breeds deluded monsters, ugly and deranged
Twisted souls, scrolling diagonally across our screens
Absurd superficial archetypes with decay in their seams
Is this what we should aspire to in our dreams?

When the rising bill is many multiples of the wage, there will dawn a new age
The many will ravish the few, blood lust, trust disbanded
The balance reclaimed, the table's tilt corrected,
Elitist bodies stacked under foot of the table's leg, 
Begging for weight to not be applied from the table's surface.

The many will stand aside their tents victorious, 
Their future's not so bleak and laborious, 
Their new age shall commence, the battle won.
Hope of a future for their daughters and sons