by Brant Bollman
We spend our life in circles
Running around and around again
chasing the possibilities
We run and run again
We chase a promise
a picture of silver and gold
richly lined pockets
things to have and hold
we huff and puff
running till we run low
slaves to our possessions
sacrificed to dough
when we pout and preach our morals
the truth is easily seen
when you stab us in the heart
we only bleed green
We are servants of money
chasers of dimes
lovers of possessions
burning our time
We we run and run again
until our dying day
chasing the possibilities
Until to dust we fade away
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