Bring your ears to me as cover clothes and listen to what I want to say

Songs of poetry have stirred my belly.

I will start from where I earlier stopped

Songs of wisdom have remained in my belly

The songs of wealth are the songs pregnant in my mouth

There is no rush here, only songs of wealth remain.

I say, as rich as the world’s richest men can be

The rich cannot sleep and close their eyes completely.

Money is what they still spend their days running after

Daily hustle doesn’t permit them to sleep on their two rib sides.

They can hardly sleep at night

They hardly can sleep during the day

Yet, the sleep-soundly-and-drool is the habit of the poor man.

How do we hear that one becomes successful 

But does not gain the benefit of sleep?

We’ve found the path (in life) and now all we seek is death.

Finding peace of mind and now on the prowl for trouble.

It is true, I’ve heard, that money that one adds to never quite finishes

It is the wealth one works for that stays with one.

The lifespan of money cannot be long for the person who just stays idle.

But shouldn’t one with money also have some rest?

Why would we chase money for long and become the slave of money

And the human adorns his own body with clothes of suffering.

Leaving the house in the morning and coming back at midnight

And before dawn, we’re gone again.

And we’re hustling up and down every single time.

Please help me tell the rich man 

To stop sticking his finger in death’s eyes

That the human rests a little and works a little is ideal.

Tell the wealthy man to give himself space to rest

So he can grow some grey hair before his time is up.

It is the man who doesn’t rest that dies before (their) time.

After all, we came to the world naked, and we return with nothing in our hands

Let each stop giving himself reasons to panic.