Tell me: who are the great, all-knowing THEY?
No faces, names or mandate, yet with power
To buy and sell us by the pound and hour,
Strip money from our schools and give away
Our countryside for houses, make us go
On mindless missions, drag us out of sleep
Too early, ride us hard all day, then keep
Us half the night. They draw the lines we toe.
So what, then, is my life to them? They don’t
Know me, though they may think they hold my fate
In their dead hands: they’ll never pass my gate
Or walk my road. They never have. And won’t.
That’s fine by me. This lesson I have learned:
That less is better where THEY are concerned.
For everyone who has to be somewhere or do something today because THEY say so. N.