Money is a mass illusion
A conspiracy of occlusion
We are involuted and fruitfully disappointed
You are free to disagree
With any of melancholy’s anthems
For they are only apathetic hymns
Written to the sounds of the anointed
Funnels of trust and courage
Make you love yourself more often
Must we give happiness the rub
And settle down in our lonely carriages
Only three harmless appointments later
I saw you staring at the furniture
I hoped that it would fade way
So you could get your voice back already
In your body is a serpent
And your lungs are the ocean
You were gasping as if life
Was only one form of devotion
Or was this another failed attempt at liberation
Undertaken once too often
We have made attempts to rest
But nothing exhales anymore
And now only this shortness of breath
Can show us what's really necessary