It’s all just a money grab you see, golden ramps, golden slabs, money maker trees,
Grubby, grabbing hands hug tight to swinging silver vines,
One platform to the next, higher and higher until loose change discovers loose liars,
Who lurk between mercury mines, the lower class? Oh they’re fine,
It’s all just a money grab you see, swinging from branch to bank,
Coins counted and curtains drawn taught and tight,
Red and rippling, blurring the sight
Of a facetious, fat king that has let go of his kite.