He made a million dollars in his day
and Arthur Loman was always honest in the way
that he sought and got his pay
but, still, he opted not to play
monopoly with real money, so he stocked it all away
and never thought to want to stay
on a tropic holiday
though he could have easily afforded it
he had enough money to retire when he was forty six
a highly paid subordinate
and yeah, sure, he was bored of it
but sorry if
you wished you had that chance, he chose to forfeit it
He wanted to be a millionaire,
live like a millionaire,
but had no friends or family who’d really care
He had no ends to have the means of getting there
Had no spending habits and never said he’d share.
Not just a dude with luck
he was a ruthless shmuck
who worked hard and saved up like scrooge mcduck
Thinking soon enough
he’ll be finished hoarding
then he can finally start living the life he’s been ignoring.
Lying in his bed,
when through the window
flew in a bird with a top hat and cane,
but naw, that’s insane.
Yeah Yeah Yeah, and I say, “What’s going on?”
Arthur Loman was all alone when
he heard from a well dressed bird who told him
he was about to die now in any moment
so he shouted “Why?” and then laid frozen
as the tiny bird kindly assured the old man
you only have a set number of days and you sold them
for a small sum, which to this day you’re still holdin
though your life slipped through your grip and got broken
you sold your days for tomorrows that never came
saved for the rainier days that never rained
and now you’re lying in your bed of pain
only asking “why?” instead of saying
maybe you’d like more time.
maybe you’d only waste it
life is a buffet and I’m sorry to say, you’ll never taste it.
Wait, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be
dying alone in a hospital, nobody close to me
socially, sure, I was a bit of a hermit
but I was well respected I don’t agree with your verdict
Let’s not be rash, give me a chance to speak
I’ll give you all of my money just to live another week
and the bird said, “No!” What’s going on?
What’s going on… it seems that you’ve got it all wrong
You can’t purchase more days, when they’re already gone
don’t you see the irony, in trying to trade
all that you’ve made in 40 years of being a slave
for seven more days of being a lonely, elderly
bitter old man whose happiness only came out seldomly?
you’re telling me, it cost a million bucks
now you’ll give it up cause you haven’t lived enough?
Nobody’s ever tried to barter for more days
by trying to trade all the love that they’ve saved
I’ve seen poor men die, pleading for more time
so they can show more love to their kids or wives
but not this, you lived your life in an office,
and where’s your money gonna go now? you ain’t got kids
I’m sorry, but dying is like this…
you should have seen that what you were selling was priceless.