(In which the Hebrew book of Ecclesiastes is given a modern re-telling:
a rich, successful individual reflects upon past glories with doubt and cynicism)
Havel Havelim, still the lament of my heart
I wished for the comfort of those who depart
Better to be poor and know wrong from right
Than to reach for the throne, for Earth's foolish might
And the growl in my stomach, it never dies down
The hole in my pocket's never sewn
In the palace, in the field, in fine suits or rags
Makes no difference when you're on your own
The fool says much and breaks from his word
The poor man sleeps well while the rich is perturbed
Yet down they all go, bare just as they were born
Champagne and caviar, or a bowl full of corn
And the growl in my stomach, it never dies down
The hole in my pocket's never sewn
In the palace, in the field, in fine suits or rags
Makes no difference when you're on your own
Build it up or tear it down
Do you feel any joy when you wear your crown
The more words you say, the less it seems to mean
Beginning and end, questions in between
And the growl in my stomach, it never dies down
The hole in my pocket's never sewn
In the palace, in the field, in fine suits or rags
Makes no difference when you're on your own
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