My money is my life, a relentless chase,
i work day and night, but it's never in place.
How cold is this currency, slipping from sight,
fleeting and elusive, no matter how tight.

I hate money's game, its cold, distant call,
no matter my efforts, it eludes my thrall.
I chase it through shadows, through dreams and through pain,
yet it keeps running off, like a thief in the rain.

Help me catch this phantom, this slippery guise,
so it won't vanish, and leave me with lies.
In my quest for its presence, I yearn for the day
when money stays close and will no longer stray.