On Fingertips

You hold it, you spin it, your sweet ante
You've bet it, you complain about it, yet you can easily let go of it
On fingertips it accrues, you seem like you have nothing to lose, perhaps the words I have misconstrued
If I was floating, on the river of your boat, I would second guess my dealings
If I was floating, on the river of your boat, I wouldn't even think it
On fingertips you hold a token of woes, at least that's what you've created
Deep down I wonder why you even bother complaining
Because at this rate it means nothing
Go ahead and pass the ante
Thеy'll be looking at you through future's glass