the days flash back to when he had no money
before he was rich he was happy, sad but funny
now its monetary - happiness is of no cost to him,
cuz he's got jackson lincoln and washington.
he counts his bills, doesn't know their little worth,
nothing matters, unless his income whittles first.
he presses on, the pressures on, to be successful,
he's a machine that doesn't believe its stressful.
a deceiving schedule, to the broker every morning,
ignores it - tho his true life's given several warnings.
may be too late, he's fallen into society's pattern,
he's been connived by all that propriety matters
anxiety patters, scatters his morals long laid within,
i try to break the false values the devil made with him.
we're all slaves within, tempted by unworthy things,
learn from this man - hapiness still hasn't heard from him.
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