Gold

Measure my worth in gold,

Maybe then it could be sold,

For what I hold in my brain,

Is a matter of your gain,

Could you tell me,

If I lost a few cells,

Maybe just one,

Would you bring down my worth,

From where it had sprung.

Constantly trying to make you proud,

But the only time you would be,

Is when there is a shroud,

On the imagination,

Of my soul,

Let it die for you,

Let it go,

Maybe then Midas,

You will get your gold.