They raise the rent like flags in war,
Each dollar stacked, a silent roar.
Eviction notices in place of dreams,
While landlords sip their luxury schemes.
Wages crawl, while costs balloon,
No space to breathe, no silver spoon.
A shoebox costs a king’s domain,
And public housing’s cracked with shame.
The city’s lights are bright, but fake—
Just gentrified for profit’s sake.
We work, we grind, we chase, we lose,
Our homes reduced to market news.
But voices gather in these streets,
Where hunger walks and hope repeats.
And when we chant, it echoes back—
We’re not broke. We’re under attack.