The words on this paper have not come easily yet when the world decided to sell its soul to money, they lost all value
I will gladly pluck at my guitar until I starve, you seem to want me dead by the looks of it
You know how this world works, without cash I'm not worth anything
I'm forced into slavery to provide you with melodies that fulfill your confused emotions
Yet I'm treated as an entitled lunatic who needs to find work that's actually useful
For wanting a little something for what I do
For needing to eat a little food
Try living without me and others like me
Sacrifice your well being for a second in our shoes
If the world hadn't become a giant corporation, music would've belonged to everyone
It's a grave mistake to force someone to claim it as their own
Yet you made me do this in order to survive
and even then no one seems to value me enough to help me pass by
