Money Is The God Of Our Time,

Poverty Sits By The Cradle Of All Our Great Men And Rocks All Of Them To Manhood.

In Vain Would I Seek To Discover Why Sad And Mournful Am I, My Thoughts Without Ceasing Brood Over A Tale Of The Time Gone By.

Life Is All Too Wondrous Sweet, And The World Is So Beautifully Bewildered; It Is The Dream Of An Intoxicated Divinity.

In The Marvelous Month Of May When All The Buds Were Bursting, Then In My Heart Did Love Arise. In The Marvelous Month Of May When All The Birds Were Singing, Then Did I Reveal To Her My Yearning And Longing.

Sleep Is Good, Death Is Better; But Of Course, The Best Thing Would To Have Never Been Born At All.