I've heard rich men moaning
money is nothing,
but the root
of their evil.
I've seen the skint,
debt crippled,
scraping
together change,
to revel in its sin.
I've witnessed,
paper and gold
and a rainbow rock,
placed over a finger,
return a grin.
But tonight,
cast your Armani
clothes to the curb,
ignore your Rolex
and just listen
to this promise,
cast from three
free words,
'cus our riches,
can’t be counted
in gold tonight.
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