No longer a dream was it to live on the hills,

To sit back, relax, no crying over bills.

Feeling too bold, using gold, in return for—

— Pleasures of fame, of envy and trophy whores.

A one-man brand with the strength of a mad lad—

— Powers in green, my ideas a cash grab.

Yet little did I know of what was to come,

When I march too proudly, on the beat of my drum.

A sharp wrong move, a swerve to my back!

My dear old “friend” takes it all, an attack!

The jewels, the wine,

All my treasures that shine,

Gone, forsaken, what once was all mine.

Left with nothing but a broken piggy bank,

Opened it up, five pennies, one cracked.

Asking for a second chance, not a blast,

My third wife sends me away with a smack.

Now I rummage through my pockets,

They feel deeper than my debts,

I languish and curse as I recall my regrets.