Golden Rings
Our nameless kings
Wear golden rings
On each flabby hand,
In London-town,
New York, or down
Deep in Switzerland.
Their stranglehold
Is ages-old,
Buried for all time,
As teachers lie
And school books try
Blotting out their crime.
But what remains
Are golden chains
Locking tight to bind
All nations to
Obey the few
Rulers of mankind.
Each law, each rule
Is but a tool
Tightening the yoke,
Each war, each peace
Will but increase
Golden links that choke.
It’s nothing new,
A nameless few
Always buy and sell
And trade and loan
The Earth they own:
It’s theirs—they might as well.
Each government,
Each continent,
Bled and ruled by debt
To secret kings
Who wear gold rings,
Nameless, faceless, yet.
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