When calendars move,
I make someone richer.
Kill my pocket if you wish
Break the head that you can’t keep
For you know you cannot steal
Wishing there is more to fill.
Bind my hands on solid steel
For me to move my life revealed
Debris of unpronounced life they fear
I cry my heart for them to hear.
Dig for gold you cannot tell
A soul in chain it is for sale
For a moment, Death they tell
Prometheus’ verdict soon I’ll fell.
Change can better things undone
With hope to cling I hone my hand
Eat my body seal my bond
Their demands they linger none.
Never learned I know I am
Of trade I never understand
My job to count, my hand to tap
I know…
Your money lurks to steal my shoe.
When calendars move,
I make someone richer.
Thank you, Thomas Skirde, for the featured image.