When I was young, I was born with a silver spoon
The paper airplanes were dollar bills, doubloons were stars and moons
And my father wore a velvet glove on his iron fist
The eggshells I walked would crumble like chalk; I had no complaints- they were diamond encrusted
But times have changed, the moneymaker's deranged, the silver spoon's tarnished and rusted
It dissolved into sand in my work-callousless hand
And moths feast on the fund I was trusted.