Pecunia

Lyrics

[Intro]
Before the stamp of the emperor...
Before the clink of silver in the purse...
There was the sound.
There was the substance.

[Verse 1]
The Forum was not yet marble. It was mud and lowing.
Wealth was what breathed.
What pulled a plow through the Sabine hills.
What gave milk in the morning.
A man's worth was the size of his flock, his pecus.
The weight of his word measured in the weight of hide and horn.
The fine for a fist was an ox.
The price of a field, ten sheep.
This was the air they breathed, thick with the scent of hay and life.

[Chorus]
Pecunia.
Say the word.
Pecunia.
The root is in the dirt.
Pecus. The beast. The breathing capital.
Every time you speak of money...
You are speaking of the herd.
Every coin is the ghost of a cow.

[Verse 2]
Then came the law.
The Twelve Tables, carved for all to see.
A tooth for a tooth... and an ox for a slander.
The debt was a living thing.
Later, the rough bronze, the aes rude.
A lump of metal in the hand.
Weighed, not counted.
The first step away from the warm body.
The first chilling of the blood in the bargain.

[Chorus]
Pecunia.
Say the word.
Pecunia.
The root is in the dirt.
Pecus. The beast. The breathing capital.
Every time you speak of money...
You are speaking of the herd.
Every coin is the ghost of a cow.

[Bridge]
Marcus Terentius Varro, he remembered.
He wrote it down for us.
"Nam et pecuniosi..." he said.
The wealthy man is the one with many beasts.
And so the word was embalmed.
It survived the Republic, the Empire, the fall.
It haunts your courtroom.
Your financial reports.
Your 'pecuniary' interests... are cattle interests.

[Outro]
In every transaction...
a distant lowing.
In every contract...
the scent of the herd.
Pecunia.
Pecus.