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