The State of the Union

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.