They ask what we’ll do when the work is gone, Like we ain’t been dreaming of freedom all along. Like labor’s the meaning, like grind is divine— But that’s just the system rebranding the bind.

A child is born with a heart full of grace, Then schooled to forget it, to run the rat race. From playtime to deadlines, from wonder to rules, They trade love for obedience inside of these schools.

The bell rings, the spirit folds, They teach you to chase what the system holds. Not truth, not joy, not unity’s spark— Just grades and wages and living in the dark.

We don’t need your grind, we don’t need your chains, We don’t need your schools, we don’t need your games. We were born to love, not to serve your plan, Post-work life? That’s the rise of man.

The Breakdown Parents say “you gotta go,” but they broke too, Caught in the loop, just doing what folks do. They ain’t evil, they just bent by the frame, Passed down the trauma, passed down the shame.

But now the machines can handle the load, So why keep pushing humans down that road? Let AI run the grind, let tech hold the weight, Let us evolve, let love radiate.

No more need to compete for a plate, No more need to hustle just to feel great. No more schools that crush the soul, We’ll learn from life, from love, from the whole.

We don’t need your grind, we don’t need your chains, We don’t need your schools, we don’t need your games. We were born to love, not to serve your plan, Post-work life? That’s the rise of man.

Imagine a world where the heart leads the way, Where meaning ain’t measured by a job or a pay. Where kids grow wild, not broken by rules, Where wisdom ain’t locked in government schools.

We’ll build a techno-ecology, love at the core, No poverty, no prisons, no need for war. Just games for the thrill, not battles for bread, Just living, just loving, just rising instead.

So when they ask what we’ll do when the work is done, Tell ’em: We’ll finally live beneath the sun. No more survival, no more broken parts— Just humans reborn with unbroken hearts.

So when the rich man asks, “What will the poor do?” He forgets that the system made that view. He chillin’ in yachts, sippin’ on time, While the poor man’s grindin’ just to survive the climb.

But when work is gone, the walls dissolve, No rich, no poor—just problems to solve. The categories fade, the spirit repairs, And life becomes living, not climbing upstairs.

The poor man asks, “What will I do?” But that’s just trauma speakin’ through. He can’t see freedom, can’t feel the breeze, But the change is comin’—it’s breakin’ the freeze.



When The Work Is Gone

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