Monkey suit

You ever have one of those moments,
when the monster's wrench is placed in the
palm of your hands.
The power of wealth is given to you?
The drive to waste a life filled,
with a flooded engine!
My monkey love.
My monkey love.
My monkey wrench.
Do you ever have that time,
you elapsed into memory. . .
only to recall something that never happened
through thoughts there.
Through thoughts that take you where;
where it ended.
Everything ended.
And all you had as evidence was a oil stain:
on my monkey suit.
And a piece of paper
that read,
"Learning to take back not what
has been stolen."
But god I swear
I saw it move.