I say I'm not looking for love but I'm looking I'm catching cold glances from eyes filled with the weight of sorrow been cast in gold My purposeful fingers reach up for money from the gutters, this, is just what I'm told. Enter my ears, enter my eyes, enter my skin, into my lungs. I'm not breathing oxygen if I exhale byproduct. I'm out of luck, won't press it. I'm out of reason in speech. Beyond preventable death. Regret, turned to malice. Chest compression. I could have been a good person. What value in gold, if I have you?