You slowly tear at me like papercuts.
And you clearly can never get enough.
I am nothing special as you know.
But you have too much fun to let go.
Solace comes through what you buy.
Too bad you're nothing when you die.
Houses, cars, clothes and friends,
Is the happiness your money rents.
Still you can make me seem like shit,
Complaining how you need more of it.
Never do I hope to be quite like you,
When cash influences everything I do.
I do want to buy the smirk on my face,
By making others feel like a disgrace.
If I ever have anything that you need,
Your money won't ever buy shit from me.
If I had the cure for your sickness,
I'd never let you touch any of this.
Cure yourself and don't hide the lies,
Dollars are everything in your eyes.
Would the Midas touch be your dream?
Where the earth you touch will gleam?
And then the dirt will glisten gold.
So you are happy being dead and cold.
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