The world is consumed by greed.
By taxes, debts, and rising prices.
The banker doesn’t reclaim his conscience,
But blames himself instead...
He has a pact with Mammon,
Fit for a genuine god.
The banknote - just like an icon
With the signature of a bloodsucker.
And in the vault - an iron altar -
The stacks pile up endlessly,
While he sticks out his tongue,
Seeing profits slick as honey.
To ruthlessly squeeze the poor
With usury, without a hint of shame,
And then happiest to savor
The spoils of his vile game.
The world is consumed by greed.
Mad. Revolting as a stench.
But everything eventually returns,
When there’s no turning back.
Mammon doesn’t help from afar.
He holds power here and now.
The gallows tighten around the rich,
In Dante’s foreboding woods.
There, fiery brimstone engulfs him,
And a dreadful thirst torments.
Yet eternity, wildly heartless,
Can’t be bought with mere cents.
For he lived in a fatal delusion,
Driven by dark greed,
And with the verdict on Judas,
Accepts his eternal decree…
Stefan Glavchev
(The Rise of the Fall)
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