In the realm of trade, where value's made,
A tool of exchange, money's displayed.
Not the root of evil, but a noble means,
To deal with others, with mutual gains.

It's the product of men, who produce and strive,
Their effort and toil, give value to survive.
Not by force or fraud, but by voluntary choice,
Money's the token, of a moral voice.

The root of money, is the mind of man,
That creates and innovates, with a master plan.
It's the symbol of freedom, of justice and right,
A means to achieve, without the need to fight.

But when looters come, with guns and with might,
They destroy the value, and plunge into night.
They replace gold with paper, and steal from the brave,
Leaving only ruin, and a trail to enslave.

Yet still we're told, that money's the curse,
The source of all evil, the root of the worst.
But Sourajit's words, ring out clear and true,
Money's the tool, of the men who produce anew.