One day as I wandered
I heard a complaining
I saw an old woman the picture of gloom.
She glared at the mud on her doorstep
'twas raining
and this was her wail
as she wielded her broom,
Oh, life is at oil
and love is at rouble
beauty will fade
and riches will flee,
Pleasures they dwindle
and prices they double,
and nothing is as I would wish it to be.