With you
I am a tourist
You carve your smile
Tell me I’m welcome
And hold out your hands in demand
I know something is wrong
But this place is so masked in serenity
I do not care to understand it
You grab and you tear
Here
Love is a currency
I will pay with my heart
Then inflate to bankruptcy
I was nothing special to you
Just another tourist
Like the dozens and other hundreds
And you care about them
But not for them
Just as you do not care for me
You value what you receive
And how much you can grasp
But give newspaper to blind beggars
And insults to the depressed deaf
You care not for what you pass around
Only that what comes back to you is what you desire
So I am spent
Spun around
Turned away
And asked to leave
And you welcome your next tourist.