this is joe

This is Joe.

He goes to work in a job he doesn’t like
For a company he doesn’t believe in
In a car that poisons the planet
Wearing clothes made in poverty
To buy food that is produced unfairly
And pay back a bank which owns everybody.

Meanwhile his children can’t play in safety
They can’t be free anymore
Because freedom is a luxury no one’s selling.

And his wife must pound a treadmill
Or loath the site of herself in every mirror
The television holds up to her.

And he can’t stop
His wife can’t stop
And his children suffer
His dreams have died.
Anesthetise, anesthetise
The man that was
Anesthetise.