 In the grand halls of Mammon's mighty lair,

Where gold and silver dance in radiant flair,

There lies a realm that wears the crown of art,

A kingdom of coin, where every heart does smart.

Finance Capitalism, hail thy glory! Thine empire stands unbroken, like an ancient oak.

With numbers crunched and stocks unfaltering,

Thou dost control the world's throbbing arteries, like a master conductor orchestrating life's flow.

The humble hands that once crafted, plowed, and built,

Now bow to thee in reverence, though they'd rather wield their own tools and be unshielded.

Oh, men of labor, how your brows do furrow!

Your sweat-soaked browns, once noble and enduring,

Now kneel before the altar of cold figures,

While Finance Capitalism hums its hymn of victory.

For those who toil beneath the sun's relentless gaze,

Their efforts now but footnotes in a ledger's maze.

The spinner's thread and the potter's clay,

Are mere trifles compared to the power of the trade.

Ye peasants who sow and ye artisans who spin,

Your noble calloused hands are but a sin,

A blemish on the canvas of progress divine,

Where numbers and wealth define the line between us all.

Finance Capitalism, thou hast won the day,

Thy reign eternal shall never sway.

The lowly tiller's plow and weaver's loom,

Shall fade into memory, like a forgotten tomb.

Hail to thee, Finance Capitalism, in your boundless might!

Thou art the ruler of this world, both day and night.

Amen.

