The New Socialism

Until there is no money,
Printed anywhere,
And it is never seen in someone's hand,
But only travels through the air,

From the proof of our identity,
Embedded in our very skin,
As much a part of us as our sense of humor,
Or our manic compulsion,

To have what we want, easily,
Just pick it up and walk away.
Isn't that the freedom we talk about,
When we camp out for days and days?

And it's alright,
We just have to make money part of us,
And it needs to be distributed evenly,
By the new government, socialist.