Money is one sinister god I used to pray to
Me, the kid with the broken heart and faulty hue
Struck by the currency of freedom and power,
It’s not my conscience, but my hands I scour
That’s me, on the day I was born, with a black halo
eager to meet my maker, without value or credo
In the night, I dream of ‚never enoughs‘
I dare you, try’n grab me by my scruff
My god grants give, takes and demands
I refused and he took me to the badlands
I’m praying to a different god now,
That’s me, giving her my cash cow –
Me, the sinister kid with the broken briefcase
Smiling, the lens sticking into my happy fat face
promises and cash spilling out, unto the masses
This is me laughing, crawling to a party of chances
I can’t stop the itching, watch me rehearse bigotry
Media, my goddesses, free me from human dignity
Pic: iStockphoto
