Rain trickles down the backs of all those who beg for gold.
Fools’ gold, I say! Fools’ gold!
Pain every day and it will stay.
Sane in every way and the rain fills the bay.
Cowardly scouring for what they seek,
They are just like the mouse, hanging from the raven’s beak!
Back, I say! Back, up the peak!
The bay’s dam has a leak!
Shiny nuances of the future’s fortunes,