Honor System, The
American Math
Gambling manPull the arm and spinPrepare the lunchbox, pull the boots up, pray for sevensThe numbers, voice echoes with confidenceThe equation replaces common senseThe victory paradeFronted by the marching deadDownsized, trivialisedRipped to pieces, built againThese deeds turn good people into grenadesBalancing on stringsStability more fragile than a butterfly wingThese are the mathematics of trickeryOf bribery, of thievery, of slaveryRebuttal to the crowdWas much like botched surgeryPropped up, made to standThen buckled at the kneesThe pigs have gathered and they're screaming bidsLaid out on the auction blockTired horses, hollow promisesYes men fall with severed heads in handsDeafening, the numbers' geniusHad somehow failed them again
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