The bony finger spins the wheel
and lingers while we place our bets.
The colors pass before our eyes,
rouge et noir, we agonize.
Chancing all, our lots are drawn.
The dancing ball is here and gone.
Suddenly, we feel the chill.
The slowing ball will soon reveal
what we will gain and we will lose
and soon there's nothing left to choose
except the way we pay the debts,
in sorrow and with great regrets.
Tomorrow's sun our fate begets,
payment due before it sets.