Money, like honey, causes the natural flow of energy between us to become sticky and slow, but the taste seems so sweet, we forget who and how we used to be.
While our true dreams may be remembered upon waking, money is the insomnia that scatters those dreams through the day.
Electrical beings, lighting the world we are, but money acts as a resistor, dimming us from one another.
Energy we are made of, love and sharing is our nature, while money is there to curb the love, and to regulate that sharing.
Forgetful gods, we trade our eternal power for a dollar today, and we bow to clocks that tell everything except time, those mechanical trolls 'neath the bridges that extend from our minds.
We hired ourselves a god is what we did, and we named it the ONE, empowering it so.
A kink in the hose, and we all agree that we'd rather be slaves that live in the sea, and tho it's a sea of bliss and creative force, its waves abundantly coiled around us even now, plenty to share, yet our eye is elsewhere, glued to a distant dollar.
A kink in the hose, to impede the flow between us, the flow that we used to use as currency without constrictions, but now that we're all grown up, money has come between us.
