A Pill When You're Ill Poem by soren Barrett

Holy holy is thy name, whitened sepulcher of rotting capitalistic shame
Sacred temple of golden illth, Delphi in fixed filth of a gambling game
The cards are stacked watch the dealer, he'll tell you he's your casino healer
Spin the wheel let the PDR pages roll, soon you will be digging your own hole

Filled pockets is all that's on their mind, the poor and needy are declined
Doctors as pushers that wear a white mask, handing out bottles of addictions, a candy man's task
The mad hatter writes scripts with his golden pen, not a cure but next week come back again
Pushers of hope in a bottle of pills, dealers, hook ups for dope from a cartel that kills