Lottery man with a ticket in hand

Price Chopped life, a hack in the making and a discount

Faking, to little sense inside his wallet, to much pain now on the ballot,

Voting friendly he seems to be and somehow now he’s gotten to me,

A vended machine life, just numbers and buttons and shiny lights,

Vagrant always he does seem, open to whoever will see him through

And sit down and have some recollection of all those days he did go

Wasting and it clicks inside my intuition do I walk over and give some

Solution, beaten down by life’s affairs I surely wonder if he ever cares,

Or notices with Holy ambition that He needs to change his condition,

If money really is the motivation or if He needs a lovely girl but could she

Really change Him like that, or does he like the lottery to live like that?

So I sit and wonder and really ponder does it matter what I do or say

In moments like these, or do I sit back and really at ease? And stay hidden

Inside myself for only he could ever see what’s really changed inside of me