Money; So temporal helps us forget our morals The damage it causes contracts & clauses people starving while others feast without conscience, the evil beasts!! That is the preoccupation in our world
Money; confusing, making life all twisted & twirled Surely you can't compare it To Gods eyes in the stars His heart, the moon, sweet sister Moonshine Guides us in such a tormented world at such a darkened time.
Can you buy the sun? Can you purchase the planet of love? No, But you sure do your best to pay for this destruction above
Money; a horrid corruption when all we really need is love
Been havin sports car dreams Ridin in a Volvo blowin steam Livin the creme de la creme
Till I wake up to the nightmare Tired of wakin and bein poor here Gotta sleep dream of somewhere Somewhere... Somewhere...
Man, somewhere else is where I wanna be Another reachin for green like my fool gatsby Every comedown letdown settledown got me empty Theres a fog of smoke from the green i burn where I be? And who was it that I be? Had to have been somebody
Been slowly dyin workin nine to five How long can I last maybe nine or five Dont know if I got the pay needed to live Gotta get this pay if I wanna live
Takin a stride lost in the forest lookin for somewhere to apply Then again might just burn the forest float on a smoky sky
I'm livin this life and struggling against the current currently I'm workin this job struggling weekly concurrently for currency Grindin my life away gonna end up passing away silently Wanna burn fast and hard a pyre burning brilliantly
But im just slow burnin embers no fuel for the fire Gotta get some more need someone to send me a wire These burnin embers are goin out the light gettin dimmer Drownin in darkness no I've never been a good swimmer No food in the pantry man im gettin ****** thinner Keep competin for the prize but never been a winner Cant win the rigged matches unless I become a sinner Gotta be criminal just to get myself some dinner Still beleive I can make it though the deluded dreamer
Gotta try and make it live my fantasy Or die locked in a penitentiary For the crime of chasin my rhapsody Probably just end up another casualty
Inspiration strikes like lightning-- Wait, no, scratch that. I’m really trying hard not to be cliche. Inspiration strikes like the common cold: It creeps up slowly and dreadfully Until I’m spewing snot out of my nose And coughing up nonsense for a week. That’s actually a bit more accurate.
How often do you catch a cold? Once a year. Maybe twice.
Currently I am writing uninspired; Linguistically constipated. Maybe I’m just a bad writer Or maybe the act of writing was only meant To punctuate my emo phase Because then I was a teenager And the possibility of living off of poetry Was only a fun idea And not a requirement.
How often do you think about money? Just as often as Everybody else does.
It’s (almost) as though artists Must continuously invite sickness Into our lives to remain active creators. I’m sabotaging my immune system So that I’ll be sick enough To see the world as a tyrant Who can be brought to justice Only through the power of my martyred voice.
It’s society making me sick, Not me, Why would I do that to myself? I’m just trying to make a living The best way I know how.