Things

Things come and go,
and people follow.

Profound, or useless,
Or covered in sin,
We covet mere objects,
and why? 'Cause they're “in”.

Things are money.
Money is things.
Like bees making honey,
Race to make more and win,

But bees are not winners,
They're slave-cells on meth.
They miss too many dinners.
Their work is their death,

and Things are not money.
That's time (undervalued,
To the point where it's funny
To me, maybe deadly to you).