When it's not getting big,
Like a lung, 'cept no air's needed to live,
For this relentless pig,
It inhales other things, like slop from trough,
Depending on where you find importance,
Money, fame, love or hate,
Any commodity for conversion,
If you can slice its innards and climb out,
Then you lose everything,
Others no longer can connect with you,
Though you become a king,
Of nothing much,
Just a jumble of crap,
That only has meaning back where you were.
Ain't that a kick in the proverb'al ass?
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