My bins are full, my bay is empty;

why does my inner being remain so hungry?

Surrounded by materialism, I get no satisfaction;

could it be that I'm in dire need of introspection?

My bins are full, my bay is empty;

why do I feel such a lack of safety?

I acquire more possessions, I sense no profit;

is it possible for me to manage a sincere audit?

My bins are full, my bay is empty;

everyday I just get by, scarcely.

Broken promises, many shattered dreams;

my life is on hold, and so it seems.

My bins are full, my bay is empty;

acquiring all sorts of things has proved very costly.

There is no happiness, there is no joy;

looks like I need something new to employ.

My bins are empty, my bay is now full;

now I can really sing just like a bulbul.

Awake my soul, awake my purpose;

who can know if you'll be crowned with a nimbus?