Our shared reality is a prison paved by poverty, prosperity profiteers from our pride, poisoning our perception of power. Pointlessly, we pester the priest of our misfortune. ‘Fortune favours the bold’ they say with feverous ferocity, unfamiliar with the ‘bold’ spirit of the proletariat. Moments pregnant with pain passionately fill proletarian life, unfulfilled and alienated by the bosses’ greed. Whence forth, dear brother. Worrisome the world has become without direction, dear brother. Will the proletariat break the chains bared upon them? Depression is a devilish tool, a deal made with the boss leaves the worker without hope, without the ability to revolt. Revolutionary revelry may never grace our reality, dear brother. But hope is for those who fight for it.