The Birds and the Money Bees

The first time I looked into her eyes I knew two and two was four,
These days I spend all my time searching for the numerical value of more,
It’s a dirty business; making money out of all your time,
What you thought was the land of the law was the scene of the crime.
Cross the neon desert for the holy grail of a natural blond,
She use to play the being of your chemistry; you just wave your magic wand,
Those primal urges you learn to control; become polite euphemisms you can’t
deny,
Living a life that allows no wonder but the wonder of why.
All the beauty of a pristine early summer day,
Is not part of the contract of the soulless grind for two weeks of pay,
When you curse the oracle’s fate they just say — that’s life,
You just marry some fucking job and go to work on your wife.
You go to school to learn all about the birds and bees,
And grow up to find nothing matters but making money,
The draft of her perfume use to make you weak in the knees.
Now the birds sing top forty
soundtrack in a world driven by the pulse of automated ethics that
turn Heaven into another
gray area; that turns the
law into lawyers and sends
every wild thing left afoot
clawing at the asphalt for
a morsel of innocence
long ago surrendered to
the dirt underneath; and the
money bees buzz; build and
belch for the brewing
of artificial honey.