For all the workers in the world whose sweat and care and toil clean streets, mow lawns, flip burgs and dogs and press the olive oil, whose hands unknown to humankind are only known to God, who at the eve of every day their path to home have trod....
O, for that we labor as thou didst once ordain With no concern that limb or thought be sprained We carry high the banner of our deeds and moaning pain And hope to hell we'll never have to work a day again.
The irony is, when we work, it seems such drudgery, It seems so easy just to shirk and wish that we were free, but once a tedi'ous job is lost we moan for it and pine: we know our labor's precious cost was only in our minds and hearts.
If every day you do the thing you always like to do And find a way to get some cash from those who like it too Then you have found a little piece of heaven here on earth, So get to work and carve your niche, and charge for what it's worth!
It is your right to be as only you rightly define And not to worry if the things you take are rightly mine So step right up and take your place here in the handout-line Without concern or single thought that you are wasting time.
And if no one will pay you for your writing your art, no matter how much work and sweat, no matter how much heart, the world, it owes you nothing, and the government still less, so don't expect to feed yourself with things that you "express"
Currency of paper is a proxy for the trade of value found in services and goods that you have made. if no one wants the thing you do, no one will pay your rent So do it as a hobby, or go live out in a tent.
I once suggested that all debates or disagreements on this forum should be conducted entirely in rhymed verse. More than ever, I am convinced that is a good idea.
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