It’s nipping at my head
Making me wish I was dead.
My body’s attacking me
As well as stress you see
The bastards grind us down
Pushing under, they watch us drown.
All they want is money
All we want is peace.
They want the highest price
They may as well throw a dice
As our throats they slice
Betraying us times twice
Those siblings are a joke
A Will turns family to smoke.
The Executor’s job’s bespoke
He’s on a limb,no help, no hope.
The brother makes Cane and Able
Like best friends round a table.
Causing trouble at every turn
I hope the bastard burns.
*****
The illustration used above is a painting by Dorothea Tanning
