Hanne Hukkelberg Seventeen
He’s seventeen,
he’s like a machine.
He’s of steel,
he’s a cog in the wheel,
a spine so steep,
he’d never weep
but you could buy him pretty cheap.
Didn’t fit in school.
A stupid rule
made him a fool.
But bragging bold
what he’s been told,
that’s his gold.
A perfect master’s tool.
Dignity is astray
if you can pay.
He would even gladly
go the easy way out,
line of least resistance.
He’s the king of cash.
He’s a gold digger soldier.
Unknowingness
are hurting less,
won’t be a mess.
Affordability and
getting things for free
is of importance,
to be fed on champagne and
get it directly in the vein.
He’s a puppet in a show,
just an undertow.
(But) he doesn’t know.
