They are the enigma of our land.
Those who turned us into
Hewers of wood and drawers of water,
They are the brilliant dunces.

Like a spider caught in its web
They fight shadows to ration the air

We know their laws
We know their songs
We know their dances…
And we know where
Their fat purses are hidden

Someday,
When this merry-go-round
Comes to a final stop;
We, the erstwhile dregs
Will pick them up
One by one
Using their own laws.