There is a means to an end There is a way that seems right to a man They drag for gold in the sea But there are no riches, the stubborn will see They will be grasping at sand They will be left with lonely, sad salty hands There is a means to an end There is a different way to be a man They try to build their empires But all their sand castles will one day expire Wealth is not measured in land The richest of men have the least in possessions