There are these things that come and go
Go and come from you to me
I see no use in the, his or mine
The wild scramble for scraps
Like mice, they are irratically running for cheese in the
trap
The stick under the bucket quick as a bullet to the head
Just not as quick
They believe in mines versus ours in mastery
They are a master of materials
King of gold and crown
Queen of theater and cloth to the toes
Dancing on stages for the between their waist
Leaving nothing of them but what is required of them
What must be done for that pocket change thrown to you like
toilet paper
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