https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Gu2ouJNmXc

People experiencing poverty and the middle class beat their drums,
A chorus rising—“This freedom is all that comes.”
While towers of wealth stand silent and tall,
The rich watch quietly, untouched by other people’s fall.

“Give us the power, give us the gold,”
They whisper in halls both ancient and bold.

“Keep your virtue, your moral glee—
We’ll conjure wealth from air, endlessly.”

But freedom, it seems, is a crafted illusion,
Minted by institutions steeped in confusion.
The rest must labor, sweat, and strain,
Only to lose it to taxes and inflation’s reign.

Fairness wears a costume, stitched with deceit,
A stage for the masses, a cycle on repeat.
Debt climbs high, prices soar,
The middle-class sinks, dreams no more.

The wealthy hedge protected and wise,
While hope for the rest quietly dies.
Even the freest, proudest, and loudest,
They are trapped in a system, heads unbowed.

Still, the mantra echoes, bold and clear,
In a game rigged year after year.
With laws unequal and access denied,
Discrimination cloaked, justice belied.

They speak of liberty, rights, and choice,
But silence the struggling, drown out their voice.
The ladder is broken, the rungs too thin,
And those who climb often fall again.

Institutions thrive on public trust,
Yet trade in shadows, power, and lust.
They print illusions, inflate the dream,
While reality tears at the social seam.

People with low incomes grow weary, the middle-class bends,
Their futures mortgaged, their means condemned.
Yet still they march, still they sing,
Hoping that justice one day will ring.

And in that chorus, strong and free,
Lies the will to shape what’s yet to be.
Not by illusion, nor by decree,
But by truth, by effort, by unity.