Money.

Oh, Money, elusive and ephemeral foe, Why dost thou tantalize, then vanish, leaving woe? I keep on chasing you, with fervent, frantic pace, And you keep on running, with a cunning, cruel face. It's not funny, this perpetual, maddening chase, This relentless pursuit, that leaves my soul in a dark place. Why, Money, why, dost thou torment me thus? A constant stress, a nagging, gnawing fuss. Thy promise of security, a fleeting, false delight, A mirage that vanishes, leaving naught but endless night. Thy allure, a siren's call, that beckons me to sea, Where waves of worry crash, and anxiety does spree. But still I chase, with weary, worn-out feet, Through labyrinths of desire, where thy shadows meet. For in thy grasp, I seek solace, and a peaceful nest, But thou, Money, art a mistress, who doth never rest. Why, Money, why, dost thou stress me so? A weight upon my shoulders, a constant, crushing woe. Can't thou see, I'm tired, of this endless, futile quest? Yet still I toil, in hope, that thou wilt bring me rest. With every step, I feel thy presence fade, A will-o'-the-wisp, that lures, then leaves me dismayed. But still I search, through trials and strife, For a glimpse of stability, and a peaceful life.