Do you think

we’d see the light

if sunshine cost the wealthy something

or would we live in blackest night

outside the gates and out of sight?

Mo' money! Mo' money!

The chant heard from within

The choir sings the liturgy

forgives you of your sin.

Breathe it in, a line of lucre

one snort will get you high

like the woman who leaves you

wanting more

never quite satisfied.

Your estate must have a bunker

with an atom bomb proof door

but don't forget the bullets

and the hardware in the drawer

in case they come to get you

those hoards of wretched poor.

‘Cause money makes the world go ‘round

addicted rich are grasping more

snortin'  spoils while on the march

the opiate of the oligarch