Money

Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me;
'Why do you let me lie here wastefully? 
I am all you never had of goods and sex.
You could get them still by writing a few cheques '

So I look at others, what they do with theirs 
They certainly don't keep it upstairs 
By now they've a second house and car and wife.
Clearly money has something to do with life

- In fact, they've a lot in common, if you enquire.
You can't put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save 
Won't in the end buy you more than a shave

I listen to money singing. It's like looking down 
From long french windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad 
In the evening sun  It is intensely sad