The Gospel of Gold

Money makes the world go ’round, Go ’round, go down, Spin the globe and kiss the crown. Coins for blood, and pearls for pain, Truth for rent - and shame for gain. A mark, a yen, a buck, a pound Gilded silence, golden sound. They sing in banks, in brothels too, In empty churches, lined in blue. You want a night? You want a name? A stolen kiss without the shame? You want escape from loss, from sin? Just drop a coin. They’ll let you in. Brassy chaos with frantic trumpets, upright bass and syncopated drums. Feels like a circus losing control. You freeze alone - the stove is dead. You wrap your coat around your head. You scream to heaven, curse the frost, But faith is warm… when it’s embossed. The preacher grins, the banker prays, The landlord winks and looks away. You dream of shoes - they sell you sand. You dream of God - He takes your hand. Money, money - holy hymn! Carve the greed into your skin! Who needs love when gold remains? Who needs saints with cash for chains? Mark, a yen, a buck, a scream Bow to brass. Forget your dream. Money makes the world go ’round… And buries it. Ratatat at the window - hunger again. Knock knock. Who’s there? Despair with a golden cane. Money, money, little god, Bless this lie, forget the sod. Mark, a yen, a pound, a prayer, Buy the moon and sell the air! Clink and clank, the sound of grace, A crown for every dying face. This is truth. This is the law. Money is the final awe. And the world keeps turning. On the wheel of what you paid.