We aren’t born yet, She decides our fate,
What we get to wear, what we get to eat.
What we can want, what we can’t,
What we will see through Her eyes.
She loves us, She hates us,
She wants us so much,
She seduces us, beds us
And then quietly slips out at the height of ecstasy.
She comes down the road, a blaze of dazzling light,
Blinding all to Her dark heart,
Entwining us in Her deadly tentacles,
And with a lopsided grin lets loose the Stockholm Syndrome.
She is Money,
She sweeps through the world like an enchantress,
Her chariot drawn by the Four Horsemen,
The Dogs of Apocalypse follow Her crying ‘Economy!!!’