The Lower Class Wears a Disguise

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The Lower Class Wears a Disguise

Based on the Painting "Tobacco Settlers on a Hilltop" by Stephen Alke Cleaning, assembling, picking-labor. Our abilities extend to everything you could ever imagine. We take care of it all. We must.

Who else will?
We are the minions who run the world.

You may boast about your profession. Perhaps your dreams are achieved, your life complete. We too had dreams. But the ever-pulsing backstage is a whirlpool. Dreams become driftwood. Deprived and depressed and yet,

We are the minions who run the world.

The world is just a clock, you know. Ticking incessantly, never breaking in stride. But there is a man, too. The tiny man who greases the gears and provides complete support. Is the sacrifice of one man’s life justified in the happiness of two others? He ponders as he lies inside the clock, curled

We are the minions who run the world.

We are faceless, existing everywhere,
But never seen nor noticed. Why have a face, then? What makes us unique? Our existence is the epitome of irony.
You owe us everything but we are shown no love. Even though
We are the minions who run the world.

Often there is a flaw in the “peoples” way of thinking.
Whole nations may be controlled by government.
But do they understand that everything must have a base? Everything can collapse, since Gravity is a heartless force. However, we are birds of a feather. We also are an invisible stabilizer, we hold everything together, We are the minions who run the world.

This is a latent S.O.S.
Equality is never achievable, and utopia is Latin for nowhere, But recognition and gratitude are never wasted, you know.
We are the minions who run the world.
But even an unbreakable collective body gets lonely.
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