Written by C Hues
March 1, 2024
Such a beautiful view— All the peons below, All the pawns I accrue. All the strings that I pull— All are no one to me. If this is chess, who could I be? What is my plan? Why does it matter? I’m at the top. My pockets get fatter. I’ll laugh when you fall— Like I’ve never been bruised. You’ve got the gall To resist being used?