What’s it like to be a number

To get pounded into the calculator

To be tossed among waiters, talked about by haters

Punched into spreadsheets and crunched into portfolios like thunder

What’s it like to be a dollar sign

I wonder

To have your thoughts engulfed in every penny and dime

No longer faces or families

Everyone is in and out

There is no understanding

Time, health, sleep

They do anything to keep it

But it can’t be kept

Like shredded paper and dust

Bank accounts in the afterlife are rust

What about souls

Are they more than corporate goals

All this talk of contracts and bonuses

Makes me nervous

Who or what in the end owns us?

What about love and service

There’s a conflict in my spirit

Human beings are priceless

Is something capitalizing on my niceness

I see the storm coming in

Let the warning signals begin

Palpitations, insomnia, and constipation

Before I sell my soul

Before the dollar becomes an idol

No need to look at antiquity and laugh

We bow to the profit, not a golden calf

I’m not buying in

I’m stopping for a minute to do the math

You become what you worship