For every poem you write about rich,
write ten more,
each about poor.

For every song you sing about rich,
sing one hundred more,
each about poor.

For every story you tell about rich,
tell one thousand more,
each about poor.

Poor lad lay there blight weak worse
Rough rag spreads on hope or curse
Kind hearts frail to fill his gut
Gold and cents ring from rich purse.

When you are sad,
   you choose to be happy.
When you are poor,
   you choose to be rich.
When you are weak,
   you choose to be strong.
When you are friendless,
   you choose unseen spirits.

When you are not,
   you have no choice but choose.
Any fool can choose,
   and only the strong can fight.
But only the brave and wise,
   surrender and not live a lie.
And when you are dead,
   you cannot choose life.

Only her scarce trust
She saves and is stingy with
Freely spending time

As I watch the kids, being fetched by their parents
I frown and looked away, as I got fetched by my driver
I quietly sat down and had to endure the silence
my misery worsens as i hear kids laughter

I was trained to be an heir
with everything on my plate
I'm grateful and happy for it
but I jus't didn't want this fate

As i ate on the kitchen table..
i only saw a note from my dad
"I'm going out for awhile, tell your mom"
Do i have the right to be mad?

"MOM I HAD ENOUGH!"
tears beginning to escape my eyes
my mom looked at me confused
as to why i started to cry

mom, dad, I don't need fame
mom, dad, I don't want your money
What i want, is something you can't buy...
"I just want you... to love me"

and thats what they have to realize...
that something..money can't buy

If we ate the rich
We could build playhouses from their bones
Paint fairytales onto marrow
Watch our children dig pixie dust from the grooves
Charleston to their windchime laughter

If we ate the rich
We could pave roads with their teeth
Crushed into twinkling mosaics
Speed in glee down the polished calcium roads
Walk on blooms of gold and lilac at sunset

If we ate the rich
Their skin could line our altars
Or catch the heat slipping through our walls
To warm our hearts or frozen feet
Whichever love was needed most

If we ate the rich
And cleaned our teeth for ligaments
And spat out the fatty gristle
And when all that remained of the last billionaire
Were just an eyesocket and some coins

We could sit back,
Minds and bellies full to the brim,
Fragmented bourgeoisie burps ringing, melodious,
And laugh at those who claimed, in the old days,

"You can't eat money".