Put you in my pocket and run away,
never again to see you as loose change.

Ill never let you go, thinking I can make it last,
not taking the time to contemplate my frivolous past.

Living in the moment materialism seems to sweet,
gasping for breath in between the debt-ridden tears.

Making new claims, but I eventually forget my newly instilled rate of exchange.

If only I knew how to make the perfect caste.

But certainly we won’t forget what happened in the past.