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letra de morals don't pay - navid jamshidi

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a sociologist critiquing postmodern life
it’s me who can’t stand seeing people die inside
don’t want to watch kids lose their joy and peace
but this world shows them nothing but depression’s deceit

when you set the bar as high as a celebrity
what do you expect—people feeling any clarity?
they see perfection on the screen
but can’t see their own beauty in between

the filters, the likes, the staged smiles
they try to match up, running endless milеs
i see what they’re losing, i see the cost
chasing еmpty dreams, forever lost

but who listens to the words i say?
they want to stay dumb, stuck in their way
“f-ck it,” i mutter, as my wife calls my name
pulling me out of my thoughts, back to the same

“the landlord’s here, he wants his rent.”
her voice trembles, and i know what she meant
i see no jobs, no honest chance
flipping through papers, in a hopeless trance

i’ve been to the ministry too many times
they know me by sight, no need for signs
yes, i hear you, my dear diary
tomorrow might be the day i die quietly
if i let my family starve and fade
what good am i, letting them slip away?
morning comes; my wife shakes my side
“wake up, sunshine, your interview’s today.”

i rise from bed, the sun in my face
but little she knows what i’ve signed up to chase
the things i swore i’d destroy
now the only way to survive, to avoid the ploy

i pass stores with neon lights
each one a reminder of my failing fight
the café smells sweet, but i can’t stop
all i see is failure, from bottom to top

i reach the building, my heart starts to sink
knowing full well what they expect me to think
i’ve always loved art, the camera, the frame
but i’ve never owned one—it’s just too much to claim

i’ve worked with film, learned the game
but now it’s led me to this shame
the man in charge calls me to sign
i knew it was p-rn, but i’m out of time

high pay, insurance—it’s all laid out
enough to pay rent and erase the doubt
my hands shake, my stomach churns
as i see the photos, my insides burn
posters with naked women on the wall
i knew this was coming, i’d prepared for it all
i grab the pen, sign my name
selling my soul to play their game

the paper signed, i turn to leave
hoping to escape, to finally breathe
but just as i reach the door, i hear a shout
“oh sir, one more thing we need to sort out!”

“you forgot to tell me, who the h-ll you are
your face seems familiar, you’ve traveled far.”
“it’s me, david johnson, that’s my name.”
“david johnson? d-mn, this is insane!”

“i’ve read your books, the sh-t you’ve exposed
the filth we make, the lies you’ve opposed
nice to see you breaking your own boundaries
and making yourself free from hypocrisies.”

- navid jamshidi

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