Is he one that talks noun and verbs
But takes to hiding when the demand
For currency is made?
Is he one who dress is
Made of currency notes
But when given the microphone
Words evaporate
And loud silence reigns?
Is he one who drums loud
In the battle field
But whose iron strikes no bone?
Is he one who preaches holiness
While eyeing the parade of
Freewill donors and cursing of
Hands that drop coins
But praising those that drop notes
Yet preaching the gospel of
The widow's mite?
Is he the one who plants by the day
But harvest in the night
For the fear of being caught
Crossing the boundary of farmland?
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