Nothing Left After Death

Rigmarole
Are you 60 or 16
Starting an argument
Over a ducking piggy-bank
A piggy-bank!
Looks like a cow.
The piggy bank I mean …

Spiteful biatch
You are so rich
And yet so poor
You won’t know anymore

What’s hit you
In a dark room
All on your own
Only ghosts for company

Your bank statement heavy
In your lap
Empty your soul
Loneliness eating you up

It was a trap
Thinking you could make up
For emptyness within
With owning things

Ain’t working like that girl
The wooden chair
Pulls a run
Hard and cold
The darkness holds

Ain’t working like that girl
Empty house
Cold
Nothing vibrates
Life hides from hates

Ain’t working like that girl
What’s worth what?
What has value?

Ain’t working like that girl
Worth is in a life
That touches others
Value is what you create
Not what things hold