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'SOCIALISM Borrows, CAPITALISM Steals'
On Barbelith did kind SirVon
A stately job offer decree:
Where Cash, the sacred river, ran
Through offshore investment oppotunities measureless to man
Down to a golden sea.
So twice £10 mill of fertile ground
With business parks was girdled round:
And there were offices bright with shining tills,
Where blossomed many an interest-bearing tree;
And here were accountants ancient as the hills,
Generating tax-deductible greenery.
But oh! that deep unprosperous chasm which slanted
Down the green hill, under shady cover!
A state-funded place! As unenchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By dole-scrounging, feckless, unmarried mother!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A manly fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift, entepreneurial burst
Huge opportunities vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid this unfettered market at once and ever
It flung up momently the cash-rich river.
Five miles thrusting and with a powerful motion
Through State-ist red tape the golden river ran,
Then reached the offshore investment opportunities measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult SirVon heard from far
Socialist voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the offshore treasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the accountants and the caves.
It was a business plan of rare device,
An offshore bank account! What great advice!
A broker with a calculator
In a vision once I saw:
It was a Goldman Sachs-employed lad,
And on his spreadsheet he played,
Singing of Milton Friedman
Could I revive within me
His symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with hours hard and long,
I would build that office in air,
That noble firm! With Von's advice!
And all who heard should see him there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His business sense, his manly stare!
His portrait in the foyer there,
And close their eyes with holy dread,
For he on capital hath truly fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise. |
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