Prisoners' Dilemma

He's laying on his hot rock
Waiting for old skin to drop
The price you pay, a dependency
Or you will freeze
When heat will stop

It's a weird economy
From which we are borrowing
From health of descendents
But no magical entropy
Like we were promised

Lady luck
I will mop the blood from your bed
For you run a strange enterprise
I promise not to ask too many questions
Bend the shanks of your shoes
To blunt Occam's razor
Because the world of chaos
Is more interesting to sell

Because you can bite the hand that feeds
Or kiss the ring
Of one that hits