I deeply disappointed
a dearest friend one Friday night.
He wrapped himself in bed-sheets,
he hid behind my door,
he screamed, "You're gonna die!"

Well, "A" for execution.
Top marks for his Halloween style.
But I did not cry
because I
was thinking about money.

The recess of my heart's affections came concomitant
with an excess of my head's reflections -- from God to credit cards.

I fear no Hell, I hope no Heaven hangs like a roof about to fall.
My fallen angels have taken the form of taxmen.
Ain't you lucky to know me?

IS THIS THE MAN I KNEW IN HIGH SCHOOL?
IS THIS THE MAN I KNEW
WHO'D CALL ME ON THE PHONE
LIKE HE WAS CALLING DOWN THE HOLY GHOST?
IS THIS THE MAN I GAVE MY LIFE TO?
THE GHOST IN THE MACHINE IS GONE
BUT MY MAN KEEPS MACHINING ON.

I kiss you on your eyebrow,
I kiss you on the bottom of your lip,
in a city built on romance, wine and
ex-pat novelists.

And the air will turn electric,
and the moon will drip honey on the bricks.
You'll say, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
But I'm thinking about money.

Oh, don't you know I worry too?
Money ruins a honeymoon
so honey move, honey hustle
like you're born to.
But I'm a working woman too,
and two can do what lovers do:
move product,
make it rain
like it's supposed to.

But first you've gotta hold me,
so tight I've got no breath left to blaspheme,
so tight my ribs crack to the drumbeat.
Order my affections,
let love make room, make sense, make rent,
make a little bit of time, babe.
We'll do financial planning in the morning,
cause right now the skin around your bones is glowing,
I've given unto Caesar what is Caesar's
but you
are not his
you belong to God.