I search myself, for the details of my life, too late to change, correct my mistakes, didn't ever cut anyone a break. I was always about money. Didn't need any friends. A plain ol' street hustler, tryin' to make some ends. How do you trade your self, for cash and a little gold. how do you live your life, without a soul? Can't put a price on my ambitions, or correct my convictions, While I leave my mama, to reap what I sow, for a little riches, for a little gold. I've killed men for it, for that cash, I woulda sold my own child, just to get past, the next man, on his way up, I didn't care about anyone, I didn't give a f#*@! But now it's too late, to correct my mistakes, if only the devil, will give me a break, Where I am the maker, of my own demise, no one hears me though, like I didn't any hear cries, money is lies, for the ambitious souls wrapped in self hate, away from salvation, to hell's gate.
Reason for writing:
Poets? Why do people base their self-worth on how much money they die with. Besides basic needs, why is money so important? WHy do we strive for riches, and desire more than we need?
Birth sign: Libra
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