Every payday arrives, then vanishes again.
My bank account balance? A sight to behold—
Like a winter breeze: bitter and cold.
I shuffle through pockets, both empty and light,
Hoping some cash might pop out in sight.
But alas! All I find is an old stick of gum,
And a coupon expired, for ice cream—yum.
I dream of a life where riches abound,
Where dollars rain down without making a sound.
But here I sit, in this broken-down chair,
Imagining wealth as I eat stale air.








