- - - -
What does that really translate to?
I have money, I do what I want.
That is, until I'm bored with it.
Or someone says I'm no good at it.
Rolls off my back, you know.
Rolls off, does it?
Down the hill, to a blackened pit
Where you collect all those failures
And tell people you've dabbled.
You took their spot—
The real talent. The ones who plead
To cut their arms off, sacrifice a first born
For the chances you buy.
It's a loaded gun
To wield at those who dare question your value
Without using numbers.