Money, they say, is the root of all delight,
It builds empires, it shines so bright.
In the hands of few, it holds the power,
In the dreams of many, it blooms like a flower.

It whispers softly in the night,
Promises of grandeur, futures painted in white.
But in its silence, there’s a hidden plea,
A call for balance, for equity.

The golden chains that bind so tight,
They glisten in the morning light.
Yet freedom’s cost is often steep,
A promise broken, a soul to keep.

The currency of dreams, the pathway to strife,
It shapes our world, it molds our life.
In pursuit of wealth, we often find,
The greatest treasure is peace of mind.