New Guard of the Old Ways

One more time as we fall into the breach To a comatose god who our prayers never reach. And we wither, rot, and fade into dust As our rulers antiquate the very concept of trust. Money money money makes the world go round And it summons all the demons clawing up from the ground, To the scent of our carcasses, ever so fresh We’re not even dead as they gnaw on our flesh. Your world-changing tech still smells like a shitstain When one bad actor forks an entire blockchain. It's the same old machine with a shiny new paint job The same rigged game with a brand-new lexicon. Sick of it! Sick of this shit! New guard of the old ways! Hype cycle sycophants beg for defeat Tears of joy at the thought of becoming obsolete. Chasing falling stars into a pool of dissolution The source of a problem can't provide its own solution