Money

Now that’s a thing you can’t control:
The way that money comes and goes.
It’s not that you must sell your soul,
But money sure does bring you woes.

Just see: if you don’t have enough
(Your wages are too low for life),
You’ll suffer like a dog — its tough;
Who knows how long will be your strife.

If working is the path for riches,
Then you will do what others wish:
You will but scratch another’s itches,
You will but cook another’s dish.

Now if you make more than you need,
Who says you will be left alone?
The government still makes you bleed,
And you, poor thing, can only moan.

If you can manage to invest,
A doubt will tear you every day:
Is this return the very best?
Or does my money wastes away?

The only way to be in peace
Is having such a large amount
That you can move away to Greece
And never look at your account.