Evermore

Penance for your thoughts alone,

We live to be buried in a coffin of gold.

'Twas the night your muse renounced, 

Our hearts of profit; slim and sour.

Steal the coins that clothe your corpse,

And withdraw the petals that lost it's flower.

These buildings crush and overflow,

With hoards of want we disregard.

For in the end, there's unceasingly so much more;

Misplaced heaps of flesh we love, then ignore.