Life is a mystery,
a tropical history.
Big suit men stand at every corner
handing you cash and prizes,
for running races they have on paper.
Such suckers really.
And every man born has a tumour,
its either in their head,
or in their penis.
And such suckers we are really,
that we listen to ghosts and metaphysical voices
when all that there is,
is only greed.
So shut up and listen to me when I tell you,
money you promise is worse than your sins,
because paper will burn but
where will you hide your soul.