There is a means to an end
There is a way that seems right to a man
They drag for gold in the sea
But there are no riches, the stubborn will see
They will be grasping at sand
They will be left with lonely, sad salty hands
There is a means to an end
There is a different way to be a man
They try to build their empires
But all their sand castles will one day expire
Wealth is not measured in land
The richest of men have the least in possessions
