The Washout

I cry captive, when I have no chains

I plead innocence, and feign insane

What I call a cross is more of an ivory bed

I am dilusional

Sick in the head

I think I have it bad but haven't got a clue

If were downgraded to an average wage

I wouldn't know what to do

How do the plebicites live

Begging and scraping for coin

Clearly they cannot count as human

For that would hurt my tiny brain

So I'll carry on with my "not fine" whine

And flush reality down the drain