"real Poverty"

If I would own nothing, poverty would be my name If I would acquire wealth, with it a name Now I pass by my friends of old They are as strangers, as my feelings are cold Money has spoiled my heart of flesh And has relinquished the warmth that once was fresh Now as I grow old and start to reflect I realize my mistakes, but can no longer connect And for this I weep, for when all has been said What I have been left, is no better than one dead