Money in the piggy bank,
And it's rattling on its own...

And these coppers, they keep spilling,
From the deep wound in my side,
And I can't condone the killing,
Despite these coins I've cried,
I find I need an outlet
When the faces come again,
As they loom before my eyes and
They shriek and scream their pain.

I can't believe I'm a bad person,
And I'm destined for the flames,
I think I'll count my money,
Just to drown out all the names.

It's not like I'm the murderer,
I didn't point the gun,
I just slipped some cash inside a box,
Besides, what done is done.
I've given to the beggars,
And said my prayers each day,
So I have to go to Heaven,
You see, I always get my way.

Ask anyone around here and they'll
Say my name with dread,
With eyes downcast and ragged sleeves,
And each will bow their head.

Anyhow I'm used now to this
Constant taste of tin,
Someone has to do it,
Besides, define sin.