Old friend, the world that you have chosen,
The spoil that you have taken,
Sits rotting
Under your canopy.
“But I could pay,” you say,
“I could pay. And here is the receipt.”
Fool! You believe that you are the hero,
The saver of the day, the victor
By the thickness of your pocketbook.
And what’s more, that you have escaped
The eye that sees all things,
When in reality,
You have dealt treacherously.
You have whisked away the hearts
And the very souls of men
For your own pleasure.
Bring them back, I say!
Bring them back!
Before, with fierce anger,
I come into your house to repay.
And your family is stripped from you,
Your pocketbook emptied.
Your soul ravaged
Of solace,
And you left desolate
Amid the furious winds
Of the desert of the soul.
Old friend, we are still friends.
But know that you can’t go on this way.
And I mourn to see the future that awaits
If you do not swiftly change your ways.
