Lletres: Jon Swift. Aren't You Satisfied.

you pawned your throne for a talisman made of gypsy gold
then turned up on the scene unexpected with a sanctified soul,
a naked blade, and a conscience full of holes.

the tighter the grip
the more clear
the inevitable became.
it's not the hardship
it's holding on
that creates all the pain.

the paycheck junky hurries off the horizon turns to pink.
there's no way that this could be the night, at least that's what he thinks,
with a brain plug and a cup of forget to drink.

the further away
it starts to slip
the easier it is to fade
and join the ranks
of those of us
who believe we've got it made.

aren't you satisfied with the world that you live in