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In the mist of a graveyards gloom
The prophet stared at a misers tomb
He remembered well when last they met
A man that one could neer forget
He had been amongst the corporate giants
The ones who knew not, how to be compliant
They were made of steel and hard as nails
These skinflints who should have been in jail
How well they duped the greedy masses
Made them look like nothing but asses
The penniless prophet gave them warning
But they would rather go a whoring
So when enronitis is what they get
It shouldn't be past your senses to bet
They'd do it again for the mighty buck
praying all the while to mother luck
The penniless prophet who makes no pay
Can tell you what happens yesterday and today
But you'd rather listen to a rich mans lie
Than to a poor mans truth to get you by
So when Enron starts selling stock again
Be sure to jump back on their wagon
Don't listen to a prophet with godly intent
Who though penniless, could be heaven sent
Let your greed put you back on track
To hob nob in the traders shack
Let your good sense go out the door
Then cry and moan when you are poor.
Eileen T. Waldron 2002 ©
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