a tired mind

Its always the same this time of year,every year its the same,year after year after year I always forget how this season of slow change creeps into my spirits, this is the season of slow rebirth and all the while the Banks stand supreme in their utter contempt for humanity, the whole system is more akin to a cult, something tells me we have been living under some crazy religion, some hysterical idea based on one over riding principle, greed, we have been conned by the oldest con in history,greed,when I walk around I smell greed,what does greed smell like, it smells raw, where is culture in all this/ where is Art in all this/ something is wrong we are losing the will to fight back,art is stagnant/its there and not there/like losing confidence it drags you into a series of misguided criticism of the self/ something is wrong/all the artists have discovered the life of the mortgage/like all of us they sold out to the advertising men and women/we conned ourselves and the seasons are chaging/and still the streets hum with hum.