Gambling man
Pull the arm and spin
Prepare the lunchbox, pull the boots up, pray for sevens
The numbers, voice echoes with confidence
The equation replaces common sense
The victory parade
Fronted by the marching dead
Downsized, trivialised
Ripped to pieces, built again
These deeds turn good people into grenades
Balancing on strings
Stability more fragile than a butterfly wing
These are the mathematics of trickery
Of bribery, of thievery, of slavery
Rebuttal to the crowd
Was much like botched surgery
Propped up, made to stand
Then buckled at the knees
The pigs have gathered and they're screaming bids
Laid out on the auction block
Tired horses, hollow promises
Yes men fall with severed heads in hands
Deafening, the numbers' genius
Had somehow failed them again
