Come, put away the whine,
Nothing has ever been gained in this world,
The way you sit and pine,
Well, maybe there is a baby somewhere,
Getting its mum's num nums,
Learning what you've been doing all your life,
At the teat of the nearest occasion.
How does it feel to constantly consume,
While never producing,
Tasting only ever the most basic,
Form of your bread, daily?
I bet it's fine,
I'm sure you need no more,
And why should one be forced to want something,
Beyond what they have been born and raised for?
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