The lonely years spent on his own,
his romantically barren existence.
The humdrum job, the pittance pay,
he never shows resistance.
Every week he clings to hope,
by the TV screen he’s praying.
Fourteen million to one, a so slim chance,
yet he thinks this is mine for the taking.

The machine it turns, the numbers drop,
he can’t believe what he’s seeing,
six in a row, the prize is his,
and seeing is believing.
The adrenaline rush, the ecstasy,
the pass to emotional freedom,
my ship’s rolled in, he thinks out loud,
but circumstance is misleading.

He bought a first class ticket to nowhere,
paradise lost or so it seems.
A first class ticket to nowhere,
a shallow life, a handful of broken dreams.

The camera flash, the interview,
to the world his luck he’s showing.
They laughed at him, who’s laughing now?
He knows exactly where he’s going.
But the pretty gold diggers soon emerge,
they target him, and how.
His fate is sealed the die is cast,
yet he has no way of knowing.

The fancy house, the big flash car,
the world cruise tucked under his belt,
the pretty gold diggers hanging on,
how much better could he have felt?
But the rot is slowly settling in,
unseen, yet deadly it bites,
through a rose tinted glass,
there’s not a problem in sight.

He sits alone trapped by his wealth,
he wonders how he got here,
expensive clothes and vintage wine
won’t take away the pain.
The radio it stings his heart,
as he listens to the tune that’s playing,
and Lennon sings ‘money can’t buy me love’.