You ask me how I spend my time
I paint, I draw, I write a rhyme
You ask me if I am aware
I’ll never be a millionaire
I tell you I am stony broke
And then I ask you, as a joke
If money matters – if you care
That I am not a millionaire
Money is for those with greed
I said. I’ve everything I need
A bed, a table, pen and chair
I’ll never be a millionaire
I ask you if the working pays-
The nine to five, the boring days
Confined to screen and office chair
You’ll never be a millionaire
So who is richer in the end
The worker or the artist, friend?
For life is short – too short to care
To try to be a millionaire