I hear the bugle now,I see the frugal how they scrimp to save,to become the slave of lesser gods,to calculate the weights,though even,odd it seems that in my dreams all things being equal, no one prepared for me the sequel to the sage or wrote homework on the workhouse page, when poverty becomes all the rage I shall be rich, shall stitch in all its finery with golden threads and count my wealth in binary code, throw digits to the Kings of the road when poverty becomes of age.