No Bellman, I don’t cry.

Being poor makes me desire to have more.
And when I do, I feel even bluer.

Possessions way me down.
And so does playing this game round and round.

I’m broke but wear a nice suit and drive a nice car.
Close but no cigar.

I rent a small apartment although
I imagine I can buy every house in my neighborhood,
And if I would?

I give away all my things except two bags.
I see good people in faraway places
Exotic lands and beautiful faces
Yet I long for what I don’t have.

The government and my family pay for all my things.
I don’t feel free
Knowing they can pull my strings.

And there hasn’t ever been a recipe
Or a path that lets me be me

Possesions or no possessions, I alternate
And I never found that perfect state.

I have no wise words to share now.
No magic formula; I don’t know how.

Maybe Bob all along was right
Love myself and fight the good fight
And everything’s gonna be alright.