This flesh is the home of the treasure I hold

My hands are now open, they're empty and cold.
Too often, I've stolen what should not be sold

Too often, I've carried what I could not hold
then realized too late what I valued was mold.

While inside my chest, there lies silver and gold,
Also emeralds and rubies, the rarest, I'm told.

This flesh is the home of the treasure I hold
which cannot grow rotten, and never turns old.