The Meaning of Life

It's the sort of thing that makes you think.
We're so incredibly important, yet so near to stink.
Fly to the moon, but no water to drink.
Born with social chains, and barely a link.
We look to the heavens, and receive a wink.
With a wad of notes, we're in the pink.
Then at 65, we begin to shrink.
At the end, just paper and ink.