Rearrange the words to pay the bills
Flurries of debt underneath their feet
Crunching red numbers with a man with a head the shape of a potato
Greasy temperament, like that unfortunate black ring circling your bathtub
Running out of deadlines, running out of ages, running out of comfort
Cannot run away from the ground of responsibility, we are standing on it
Firm was the sensation that led to gasping for breath
Name a noun; we’ll exercise its finality
Reimaging crass ideology until the bankroll speaks fondly once again
Getting well can feel like the real sickness when the water supply is brown
The melody of the phone snares the eardrum
Our color green, we hardly know thee