With the crash of the cymbals I start to unwind
With past hopes of prettier pictures in mind
I don't want to be rich but I want to be rich in kind
Now I suffer the itch of the rash that I left behind

With the smack of the snare drum it can't be denied
The bastard who burns his bridges is inside
I don't want to be rich but I want to be rich in pride
Now I suffer the itch of the rash that I left behind

I am growing tired
Losing touch with those admired
Doubting trusts and dousing fires
And waiting for something to ignite

With the boom of the bass drum I could beat these things
Turn over thе twisted troubles within
I don't want to be rich but I want to bе rich in grins
I don't want to forget, I just want to start over again

I am growing tired, losing touch with those admired
Doubting trusts and dousing fires
And waiting for something to ignite

I don't want to be rich but I want to be rich
Waiting for something to ignite
Losing touch with those admired