There were parties east and north
but you wore the wrong color,
brought the wrong pet,
sang the wrong song.
You stand solidified by words and numbers.
So much function and so little spirit.
No praise from your peers
or care from your faulty followers.
You will never go hungry,
rooms full but still force fed.
Lay off the apathetic freeloaders.
You’d need a laxative of disease
to clean your hallways
as they shove another mouthful
through your doors.
Someday you will collapse,
when the final book is placed.
The day the balancing act is over.
The day history is lost.