Portable affordable stand still life in barely enough to serve two rice.
Schedules are always tearing them apart, their only glue a dying art.
Hot wax and misery torment their victims
Who paid for this service to their rectums.
Too few now spend their cash on our subjects ass.
The oldest profession killed by confessions to technology.
A sporadic lack of spotty power leaves some hope for the tradition, a flower.
This part of a culture slowly fades out, as billions now suffer throughout.
A world of strangers mingling with no-one.
Carrying forth a legacy of nothing, society undone.
