A weeping soul asleep in bed— a teenage boy in dreary lament,
Seeks solace in riches dreamt. To live overseas in superfluous luxury,
Is all the boy knows he must have as a have-not. His heart, bought by
Awry thoughts and prospects, yearns for golden years and silver days.

Yet he knows not the life of the rich man; a life of misery and pain,
The king, who sits on his throne, a lonely soul known by all men—
An irony of knowing all men but lonely nonetheless. A glut of gold
buys but bliss and love, for we miss and love what we have not.

Hence all men are hypocrites; wishing riches in their days of youth
And wishing youth in their golden years. The young ask the old why
They are not happy, and vise versa. Neither understand their reasons,
And men will always long for selves whom they are not. Satisfaction—
Or rather disillusionment; always there, yet never met.