Written from the point of view of myself, a fed-up man, looking for some kind of change.

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I'm caught in an age making minimum wage,
Hope and freedom is just a trademarked name.
They're telling me I can't chose wrong, just right,
But I'm telling them that only hell is in sight.
Guilt for not doing, but what's the point if I do?
After every time I get the same chosen few.
They've got different faces and different names.
But you be sure I know the truth.

We live in the land of the freed and the pained.
Telling me to vote, but what's the point?
It's the same, be it wrong or right.
Cause I've never seen the poor get led to the light.
You can promise all I want, and I can promise you back,
I'm saying nothing will change, I'll promise you that.
Middle class will furish, and so will up high,
But America as a whole? In the gutter getting dirty.

I'm waiting for a man who can change my mind,
Even though the US is ahead, I'm feeling behind.
I know what's wrong and right, cause I won't vote for men who never change.
They're saying little things are different for these different rings.
But when the poor die, I don't know who sings.
Is it the rich for one less begger on the street?
Or is it us, thanking god for taking him off his tired feet?