Sell out,
give up your soul,
seed in place of satire,
nurture your money tree,
spread the disease.

Patron of the arts,
never an artist,
always an adult,
blue-blooded realist,
always aware.

Grandiose,
platinum soul ringing out,
bills stacked to the roof,
really dear man,
what is truth?

You sold yourself,
of that there is no doubt,
fools curse your fortune,
but who can blame you for a system,
that we created in the first place?