Across the melody of my song, Humming in the tune of blazing horns and sirens; hustling and bustling of the afternoon traffic I lose sight of your tapering footsteps, among the layers of many and dying in the darkness of my imaginations
Through the twang of my slightly empty tin, I feel like the coin lolling inside; Exploring the surface and hoping to grab the rough edges; maybe I'd have a brush with my fellow mates, reach out for something familiar,
You are probably silver for I'm dark, Judging by your size you certainly rate high in need; You've been to the best cash posts this life can offer and felt the flourish of the warmer palms, A touch in the wave of your creases and frills, tell me the time your maker took to craft you, And loved to see you live the love of their life's
Yet I'm dark and lonely and worthless; a penny whose place is found in the sweet box, down the street corner; only to peril in the gutters and the rust of the cold graveyard of my maker
With every trick of light and the passing shadows my beacon is alerted, my game is neither to be loved nor hated, but to thrive in the shuffle of a purse or a rustle of every falling leaf of life; Cause my judgment is blurred and blind to the fact that I don't know the saint of my next meal
