Our self-crowned gold Lords.
What have we not heard
Are we not the gullible herd?
Their words flow like rain
Only to flow into the drain.
In colors of rainbow they paint
A blissful tomorrow with no taint.
And with words that tease our hopes
They push us down the dark to grope.
And we sit and listen
While our future again is written.
We have us only hope as friend
And when he dies; then comes the end.