What is the Third Estate?

I'm a war prisoner sans legs and I'm mighty poor
I'm a starving young kid and I'm yearning for more
I'm a broken bottle smashed on the nursery room floor
yet comfort escapes me

If I get the hell out of this town I think I just might
take a deep breath and join in on the fight
'Cause Big Brother always said step into the light
And that makes me nervous

All these people with no reason to talk to me,
they're talking to me.

All these people I am.
Can you feel it in your bones?
Can you stand up and shout and try to atone?
Does the mighty judgment ever really hit home,
when you're never really home at all?
Because I'm never really home at all.

I'm the knife resting in your trench coat pocket
I'm the fear you can't escape when you go out walking
You're the constant faithful that won't ever stop talking -
and I'm waiting for my turn to speak
you see I'm waiting for the inheritance of the button-down meek
weakness pleases but only on days of the week
and those same people are impossible to please

So I think I'm just going to let it go.
Sup DT brother.
Anyways I thought that it started out great. "I'm a war prisoner sans legs and I'm mighty poor" was brilliant. My only real advice for this is not to go with the rhyme scheme for so long, it starts sound a little forced by the end of the stanza.
That said, I liked the poem anyways. It felt very mysterious. In my mind, I pictured a man in a trench coat enshrouded by fog.
Also, I'd appreciate it if you checked out mine, in my sig? Happy writing.
Quote by turd_ferguson
[0:17] If my parents knew I was part of a group who celebrated christmas by drinking cough syrup they would probably cry

WEATHERER, the greatest band ever.