Tax Class

A great and grand society
Shall be known for equity.
From the city's main road
To the farm's croaking toad,
It shall serve all you see—
From you, to you, to you, to Me.

You will own your property;
That is your right to be.
If you save and do without,
You too can make the banker pout.

But as you sit back and relax,
Don't forget about me—your tax.
For property's not yours, you see;
It truly belongs to society.

We hire for the greater good,
People who shall serve the brood—
Friendly people who mean well,
But certainly can put you through hell.

But stay in line, and you will see
That you can use your property.
Just pay the piper the price,
As we decide what feels nice—

To fund new additions and pensions,
To rule—I mean serve—the legions.
And they shall become the class
With the largest voting splash.

Pay rising from money well-known—
Just pay if you would keep your home.
Then pay the price—it is nice,
To fund all that which we deem suffice.

We will work for a better way,
Just as long as it is not a Holiday.
So pay your honest share—
Or don't, if you truly dare.

Again and again, and ever more,
And soon it will not feel a chore,
But rather the greatest joy:
To pay for our growing toy—

A game, in truth, of darker sorts,
To spend as we will, without retorts.
Regardless of what your status be,
For as long as you live to see.

And when you finally die,
One final tax we must apply
To the very spot you are to lie.
Goodbye.