the modern midas

the shades of heroes from our world withdraw
honour's abandoned and we're told the game
is not about a decent human law
but how to turn the wild into the tame
or bring our master one more piece of fame
there is no need of which we are aware
that should befall the weakest billionaire
since wealth alone defines just who is fit
to get attention and receive due care
from modern midas who turns gold to shit

we're told the tiger with his stealthy paw
will wreak much damage and that we must blame
his depredations which no one foresaw
for all the horrors which we overcame
only to have each mistake to disclaim
as weary year succeeds on weary year
and we still trumpet that all folk must fear
the ones who threat and danger must emit
we'll be defended by the steady stare
from modern midas who turns gold to shit

it's not the tiger with its tiny maw
a creature that's so easy to defame
but the much larger monster with large jaw
whose goodness all our leaders do proclaim
the one who steals without a sense of shame
and leaves the cupboard and the larder bare
he is the benefactor preachers blare
and his path to retirement is well-lit
with gentle torches that cast no great glare
from modern midas who turns gold to shit

prince you tell us that we are free as air
the way to fortune is set out quite clear
we leave to you the passion and the wit
you tell us who to kill and who to spare
and we learn who to aid and who impair
from modern midas who turns gold to shit