Oil

If the squeaking gets the oiling,
then why is their blood boiling.

They complain to the graveyard,
always they act like a retard.

More than is fair they receive,
it is they who plot and deceive.

Greed and lust lives in their heart,
making them farther and farther apart.

Not a thought towards another,
leaves them with only a brother.

Their friends have now abandoned,
without a thought in their head.

Gone like they wind they vanish,
making their memories also banish.

Cruel and thoughtless the live,
never giving a moment to give.

Selfish, arrogant and unruly,
they are malefactors most truly.

They squeak like a hateful bird,
their words are as a caustic curd.

Oil never stops their squeaking,
all the while they are seeking.

Quietly they search for an escape,
but their old life sticks like tape.