HOW TO STAY POOR

Name: HOW TO STAY POOR
Duration: 270 s
Description: HOW TO STAY POOR by mBaileyz. A bus window, a phone, and the quiet arithmetic of staying exactly where you are.

One More Bell, One More Bet

A bus window, a phone, and the quiet arithmetic of staying exactly where you are.

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HOW TO STAY POOR lyrics

Artist-supplied lyric sheet, matched by title. The sheet may differ from this released performance. Production notes and alternate promotional cuts are omitted.

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Intro

Eight-oh-six. The bus runs right on time. I miss it from a couch six feet away. The next one comes tomorrow.

Chorus

How to stay poor: make tomorrow wait Feed the screen, let the good hours waste Name each locked door, never test the gate Call fear peace when it knows our face Wait for a sign with our hands in our coats How to stay poor: we know that road

Verse 1

I know six shows by theme song, four hosts by their first names. I know who lost a house online and who got rich from shame. The cup sweats on the armrest. Noon crawls past the blinds. My thumb runs ten miles while my feet don't cross the tiles. Rest is not the thief here. Rest puts strength back in. This leaves me worn, then asks me to begin again. By dusk I know what twelve strange people bought and sold. I cannot name one thing today my two hands chose to hold.

Chorus

Verse 2

The guitar came in cardboard, birthday ribbon on the neck. Three years beneath a winter coat, the strings have not been checked. The book has thirty blank white pages, clean as when it came. I say I was born with no gift, then never test the claim. But tools take cash. A quiet room is wealth some homes don't own. One child gets a desk and time; one works beside the phone. One starts ten steps from the door; one wakes beyond the gate. No honest scale can call that fair because both start at eight.

Bridge

One voice says, "The deck was cut before you took your seat." One says, "You kept your cards face down and blamed the dealer's feet." Both leave a mark upon the check that barely clears my hand. The rent won't read my reason. It just comes again as planned.

Verse 3

I pin a car above the sink, a house above the bed. I buy one ticket Friday and call that moving ahead. Magic knows my address; I check the porch at ten. No box, no call, so Monday I can blame the world again. I keep a clean list of the names that shut me out: My boss, my town, my age, my past, the ones who had no doubt. The list gets one line longer at the end of each day. There is no room at bottom for the part I gave away. A cage can be built for me. A cage can be furnished by me.

Verse 4

Tuesday, eight-oh-six. The old theme starts to play. I reach the curb before the bus can turn the corner gray. Inside my bag: the blank book and one bent guitar string. No speech, no grand plan, no claim this changes anything. At lunch I write one page. At home I learn one chord. The room looks just as small. The bill stays by the door. No gold falls from the roof. No hand unlocks the gate. But Wednesday has one less excuse to hand me back at eight.

Chorus

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01 / The opening