I see them each day, I hear them whine;
concern for their cash is the vital sign.
No sense of esteem, no value of self;
a Piggy Bank sitting high on a shelf.
They stack up their cash in a great big pile;
they keep it safe, count it once in a while.
They fear the whole world, “They’re after my cash”;
They have no trust – we might want their stash.
They are their money, they’ve got it all
until, one day comes the final fall.
They stack up their money ever so high;
till it falls on top of them and they do die.
Hello cruel world, I’m here to join this circus.
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