We think we are its master
Wielders of power, able to use it to our own ends
We throw it around as if we own it
Transactions cross boundaries as bankers negotiate prices
Money
It is not the root of all evil
Our folly is to think that somehow we can control it
But we misunderstand
Money will never be our servant
But we can be its slave
Controlled by the fire that it lights within us
Its mine
My precious
And we loves it we do
It is not mine at all
It is more fluid than liquid, moving from hand to hand
Whirling around our world like an incessant wind
Money speaks soft words of cold comfort
That gently lead us down the rabbit hole
Money humbly convinces us we can harness its power
Fools!
Deception of the highest kind
We can’t live without it
We can’t live with it
It is money that wields the power
The banker is not a master or commander trading funds
But enslaved with all who think they have the strength to make it meet their own ends
But have you noticed
It never does
It never quite satisfies
It is never satisfied
It always leaves a question
Could you spend more, make more, take more, have more?
It always wants more
