There was a woman who stood beautiful,
Who being made of stone and soil, was as tall as the clouds
And who looked down even as her legs were blasted to dust.
As she cried her imperious cry to the righteous,
Her voice was drowned by the sound
Of the driven masses.
As she reeled and collapsed into the swarming crowd below,
She pleaded with them to hear her dying message
As she shrivelled and shrank before her time,
And crumbled into her own sweet ground,
Reaching out to the plaintiff sound
Of her own kind as they died.
That the power of markets and democracy are two different things.
Power and voice like oil and water.
One floats upon, and smothers, the other.
That the land of the free has become the great illusion,
Corrupted by the greed of the few,
And allowed by the complacency of those
Who think they know better.