If I would own nothing, poverty would be my name
If I would acquire wealth, with it a name
Now I pass by my friends of old
They are as strangers, as my feelings are cold
Money has spoiled my heart of flesh
And has relinquished the warmth that was once fresh
Now as I grow old and start to reflect
I realize my mistakes, but can no longer connect
And for this I weep, for when all has been said
What I have been left, is no better than one dead