Life or something of the sort

Money can never bring me happiness

So why do I have to use it?

Fine choice I have, to be a bum almost dead.

Living as an outcast on an island, my street.

Burning the rich, inflaming the poor

Treat the small as I would a whore.

I am a customer and a consumer

A sinner trapped in a saint.

And as far as I know it can’t get better than this.

I have it all and everything I miss.

The sad look on the dog’s face while he is licking himself

While his master rots slowly, decaying in his cage.



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