I used to count you
in that little piggy bank of mine
I thought I could trust you
and you left all my hopes behind.

Coins, notes and credit cards
a large amount of you in my pocket
But you pay heed to no bards
Here down and there up like a rocket

You show your face printed on the paper
Pompously bristled with signatures.
There are those who offer you their taper.
but you turn their lives into charicatures.

Some caress you and venere you.
Some collect you in their private golden tank.
I, however, am close to fear you
and keep you far locked in a bank.

You have produced wretchedness
Created poors out of the blue
who retrieve from sins foolishness
because they thought you were true.

I summon you, Money.
I curse you this day.
I don't think it's funny
to lead me astray.

Tony, August '95

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