A pound of flesh: the price we pay
with broken bones we pave the way
cement of skin and blood and sweat
we decimate without regret

while rolling over stones and souls
that occupied now-empty holes
a cloud of dust consumes us all
and masks this painful rise and fall

of tyrants' tales of treachery
and with this pound of flesh we see
that I'm not me, and you're not you
just the chosen then forgotten few

We've trained our hearts and drained our minds
to feel no pain, be deaf and blind
to the terror and the agony
and desparate cries of "please help me"

The idea of help does not exist
nor does the thought to stand; resist
and since I've nothing but my shield and sword
a pound of flesh I can't afford