Oh, my name is Ian Phillips
And I'll quickly tell the tale
Of a few men chasing shadows
And their wealth that flows in pails,
There isn't any reason
That explains their boundless greed,
But we've bought and paid for every lie
And swallowed every seed.
These people take their living
From we, who never knew
That that, which they have told us
Could be anything but true,
They sit and count their money
In buckets piled high,
While from the corner of their mouths
Escapes another lie.
They stand all day in an empty field
Watching the sun until it sets,
Speaking with their forked tongues,
Casting lots and placing bets:
"Five dollars, here, if my shadow
Reaches out past younder tree!"
"I'll put down ten!" "And so will I!"
(For "Gimme!"is their plea).
So, they chase eachother's shadows,
Speculating each position,
Winning every lottery,
For its terms are their own vollition,
Sometimes, too, they stand to benefit
Much more if they loose,
So every 'Great Disaster'
Is something that they choose.
Although I speak in riddles,
These men really do exist-
Off of the strength of others
These parasites subsist:
The men, whom I have so described
With pails trailing in each hand
Are the bankers, brokers and politicians
Of this here ruined land!
The moral of my story is simple
And almost funny:
The state of our economy
Is just as real as money!
You can live the lies these men purport
And hold them close to heart,
But if you do, the future's hope
Forever, will depart.