Pain fills the earth like a landfill on the outskirts of town
You can hide it, deny it, dull it, or spin it around
Food, drink, plastic, sex, beauty, fame
Marketing and big business using us, making money off our name

As the pain lessens, the poems weaken
The good news is, there’s been some healing
We scratch our heads, we begin to wonder
How can I profit from my blunder?

If others take advantage, why shouldn’t I?
A book deal, record label, a business online
Go for the numbers, that’s the big secret
Sell your soul, sell to the idiots