Adrift in a sea of the bought and the sold

We’ve detached our soul’s currency from the standard of gold

The tangible lost in a speculative hold

Adrift in a sea of the bought and the sold,

whilst these spring loaded necks nod to all that they’re told

 

We’re fat, bejewelled fingers with nothing to grip

as the weight of distractions cause traction to slip,

and the roots that once anchored have torn from the earth,

mistaking the glitter for items of worth

 

A cup finds its value from what it contains,

it’s the space that dwells inside that holds what sustains,

and to view just the casing in terms of your self

leaves you naught but a product designed for a shelf