The Copper Scop

Of all the sad stories that ever were told
The saddest of all centers 'round gold
How it turns the sweetest love into hate
And has delivered many souls to an untimely fate

Each coin burns with its own inner fire
As if the flames of Hell sparked man's keen desire
To hoard it up and guard it with his life
At the cost of his servents, friends, and wife

And then to go off a conquerin' for more
To pile it up deep behind a locked door
But even this falls short of the price to pay
For death comes swiftly and takes it all away

That's why, good people, I choose the life of a scop
Telling stories in each town, singing at each stop
I have less gold than a stone golem has fleas
But I ask not for gold, just some coppers.  Please?