The society game

Like tethered convicts to a quarry
so they are each day
all children of the clay
wishing their life away,
the monotones of mayhem
fill the empty space
each rat must join the race
to be is a disgrace,
the all knowing, buying, going
they all say they have the key
for a mind to be free
but only soul can see,
clusters gather and they chatter
of superficial themes
jolly though it seems
concealing the unseen,
the entitled they do moan 
repressed they say they are
seeing gutters near and far
when above them lies the stars,
to be different is to dare 
too much beige amongst the same
great colours to be gained
beyond the society game.