I may be batty, but riddle me this, fat cat; why, oh why do those with eyes to scrutinize me shy from my scrutiny? what profit is gained by hiding behind an invisible hand? the land you kill is your own, and the people too. the sick, the dying, the oppressed now sleep with the weight of the world pressed to their chest. why, oh why don't the sleepers rise to mutinize, though fools in their mutiny? Is it their demise to live the Charlie Sheen Justin Bieber dream, made by the markets to reflect Marxist ideals, made more mild for a bourgeois audience? I say "nay" and try to wake the sleeping giant the giant is sedated. *authors note: I have been contemplating things which begin with the letter M...*
