The tool’s life is bleak indeed
They have nowhere to belong
They play board games with their tool friends
And sing their poor sad song
To be a tool is a chosen path
brought about since youth
I made my mother call yours
When your fist knocked loose my tooth
I never seemed to identify
With all you like aged blokes
I connected with the admins
Principles and front desk folk
Because I was always picked on
When I was a young kid
But now the joke it is on them
I’ve got a Facebook vid
I’ll show it to the higher ups
I’ll get you all kicked out
For having far more fun than I
A tool, someone without
Any sort of concept
Of what being human means
I can’t find humor or joy at all
I’d rather send you to the dean’s
For there I am accepted
And I don’t find it cruel
They can use me as they wish
I forever am their tool
Tools are no fun, but they walk amongst the living every day. If you would like to stop abuse from tools, I’ll set up a donation fund on my sidebar in the next few days. I also wrote a similar little diatribe about tools a while ago, when the government was in the process of shutting my old blog down.
