If I were to live alone, in a house paved in gold With a car all my own, And delicacies of all kind, Then I would be, content. For a rich man, Cannot live his life in exile, Without a beautiful woman, Or a longing memory, To tie him to past times, of happiness. Sin, is but a word to me, And had it fazed me, One time or another, Perhaps then I would drown, In self-pity and life. But sin means nothing, And nor is happiness, There is but one feeling, And none of resentment, For which I will live for. L L