Everyone has a barcode.
A barcode that identifies their risk ratio.
Every day, the government announces on the radio.
Who has a higher risk of not producing more GDP,
Who then be slaughtered. It would be easy.
This time around, I had a ratio of 1:3,
Others had a ratio of 1:10 or more.
The obsolete me could not out beat the technological others.
How could they produce ten times more with the potential of only losing one?
None of my business, son.
Because it’s time to say goodbye.
The unanswered question forces my soul to fly up high.
Answer found through time.
Those produce more beget fewer places for breath,
Causing the need for death.
Time continues; no one is left over.
The world recovered.
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