B Flat

Mom, dad, brother, sister,
Relatives, friends, any old mister
Or miss, as good as a mile:
I use them all in self-centered style
While climbing thru life, treading them under,
All to attain my ill-gotten plunder.

My ill-gotten plunder, my illicit gain—
Snatched from the masses to my disdain;
They’re rungs in my ladder, steps in my stair,
A means to an end and a way to get “there”.
They’re useful as long as they help me climb higher;
I’ve places to go, the top’s my desire.

The top’s my desire, the absolute top,
I’m driven to climb, and I just cannot stop;
It’s deep in my bones, it runs in my blood,
I know I should stop, if only I could.
I’ve climbed far too far up this road to the bottom—
Is there redemption or am I too rotten?

Am I too rotten? Can I be redeemed?
Is there yet hope for this man run by greed?
What is my purpose in life but to prosper?
I can’t and I won’t become just a pauper.
Money’s my god, and worship I must
Right til the day when I turn back to dust.