As if, if you let go,
It will forever be out of your grasp,
Diminishing you so,
Is it the money you stockpile in banks,
Not spent, and so nothing,
Is't the time you can't spare that slips away,
Without doing one thing,
Is it beautiful things that you create,
For which others must pay,
Which they don't, so they stay hidden from all,
Ne'er see the light of day?
You are weighed down,
In a fortress you've made,
Protecting you, sure, from what I don't know,
Making your form ugly along the way.
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