I don’t really like to write rhyme, when it is not set to music. Because it has a pathetic ring to it. It really reads like trying to hard. Probably because I’m not good enough at it. I can easily admit to that. On the other hand sometimes it is the best container for thoughts. It is the way it came out. Excuses, excuses, excuses: Look at how they make infinite use of finite means. Look at how they bleed us out as oil for their machines. Look at how they regulate financial instruments. Look at them exterminate in their exuberance. Look at how they pay the party to command these chairs. Look at their dysfunctional democracy repairs. Look at all those massive heaps of concentrated wealth. Look at all the fraudulent displays of social health. Look at how they tap into our minds and attitudes. Look at how consumerism kills us at the roots. Look at how every dispute circles ethnicity. Look at how they fuse hatred with raw publicity. Look at how the fr