Soapbox

They say in polite society
There must be an order
Those above to be obeyed
Those below to torture
But next time you look on up
In listful admiration
Consider who benefits
Most from perpetuation
Cuz your soapbox is your high ground
Over those that you look down upon
You say they should get better
Try to ignore that they're there at all
You say they earned their place
That those above deserve their fine escape
Say it's just fate
But you're much closer to those that you hate
They say in polite society
Those who rule deserve it
Those who fall deserve to fail
Those who win have merit
But next time you look on down
In your all-righteous shame
Consider how easily
You could become the same
Cuz when you think about it clearly
Look on those that you have trod upon
When you look at those above you
And realize they're the ones writing your song
Their script was fed to you
You're nothing like those animals below
It's all a show
Cuz you're much closer to those down below
But your soapbox is a bludgeon
And it feels good to punch down sometimes
When you're hopeless and you're tired
Knowing that you're better feels alright
But that's a hollow thought
Meant to stop you questioning your place
And to say grace
For the scraps you get while some have empty plates