The Purveyor of Novelty and Nonsense

I am a merchant who fills this land with the novelty and nonsense that withers wills.
 My struggle is to keep with what country demands, and family deserves.
 I put the bread in the mouths of my best and last hope that this name earns honor.
 It will be the first.
 I am a purveyor of bullshit and landfill, and broken dreams.
 Oh look how I've made an inheritance of others' ideas.
 Most of which should not have left their lips.
 I fear that my usefulness has expired.
 Yet you won't let me go.
 I am in a race to produce things to buy to eat things to make more things.
 I don't have the tools to withdraw myself.
 We are not hearty, we are usually fallen ill.
 Is it the tough conversations that warrant our stay?
 See I am powerless and take no pleasure in hard battles of words won.
 But is this my story?
 I struggle to love right here, the shadows that pass me by.
 Why should I leave my land?
 I question the motives of those I should prop up on my shoulders and carry;
 But not my own at n.y time.
 I will not leave my land.