He sold ideas in spades
unpolished and raw
Every fantasy that would sell
was sold below the bar
When ideas ran dry
he sold his good name
sold to any who would buy
without thought or shame
with a name spelled in sand
he then auctioned off his voice
which used to yell somber truth
now paid to play frantic noise
In the end naught was left but his physique
which he sold to deviants at a loss
Empty he stands, without soul, name or body
rich enough to buy all, but the man he once was
