What Title?

Like lottery tickets you want me to buy up your stocks and all greed's investment paper

and follow the crowds

who pretend real value is stored up inside imaginary clouds

made without vapor…

what?

A cloud with no vapor? Is life a prank or a caper?

I can't spend m' only life an epigone, an imitator.

Did you expect me to eat your classy menus for dinner as my bones, flesh, and organs grow weaker and thinner?