I set the table with stories,
laid out colors you ain’t learned,
kept a quiet chandelier glowing
while the whole house turned.
I had walls full of wonder,
but you walked through like a ghost—
never paused, never listened,
never knew what mattered most.

I was a room full of treasures,
you just stared at the floor.
Had the key in your pocket,
but you never opened the door.
I was paint, and glass, and meaning—
you were lookin’ for a shortcut.
Can’t blame the riches, baby,
if you choose to keep your eyes shut.

I learned the language of quiet,
how a shape can hold its breath,
how a single still object
can argue with regret.
You were busy countin’ exits,
thinkin’ love was just a trade—
never saw the fine bright brushstrokes
behind your cold black shades.

I was a room full of treasures,
you just stared at the floor.
Had the key in your pocket,
but you never opened the door.
I was paint, and glass, and meaning—
you were lookin’ for a shortcut.
Can’t blame the riches baby,
if you choose to keep your eyes shut.

Some hearts hang like portraits—
gold frame, untitled grace.
Some truths bloom in corners
where light forgets a place.
Love is patient like marble,
it waits for hands that care—
but even statues can crumble
when the wrong eyes don’t care to stare.

I was a room full of treasures,
you just stared at the floor.
Had the key in your pocket,
but you never opened the door.
I was paint, and glass, and meaning—
you were lookin’ for a shortcut.
Can’t blame my riches, baby,
if you choose to keep your eyes shut.

Can’t Blame the Riches, Baby

Myk Eff and Midnight Radio Collective