No work for the willing but the free lunch keeps coming. Thoughts of moth eaten futures lead me to wonder why my head is in the sand. Who will be the one to denoucne the system of endenchered serveants working for relentless and faceless masters? Keep the tide coming Mr. Moon without it we will all starve. Empty bread baskets tie the man to the land with nothing to show for it. When will the sand let my poor head go. Pinching the pocket lady to provide for the president. The people laugh and cry and fall asleep again hopefully for the last time.