In the prosperous days,
When rich households were pompous,
One was innocent of what privation means,
Oh, poverty stifles one’s ambition,
Looking back, I give useless cries.
Into whose home flow the tides of snobbery?
Oh, tenants, they are debt ridden,
Lenders, with gold and silver laden.
Bureaucrats are selling titles;
Critics are viewed as extremists.
Forsaken so is my ill fate,
And my worries gray my hair so quickly.
In the autumn wind the sun is slanting low,
I see the blossoms fall and leaves yellow,
Oh, what a harsh and cold world!