Behold, today we crowned a trillionaire.
Young, old,  see the crown, seat, and sceptre there.
How like a God, that K I N G that there upbears!
On cash and backs He climbed up heaven’s stair!
What morals—what benign self-made airs!—
that sold your world for zeroes and a chair.  

I wish that He’d have seen mom lying there,
seen her as I did, a young child that stared.
Her treatment stopped, nothing left of her hair,
’cause we couldn’t buy no more medical care.  

But no matter! What God would even care
for plight of mortals, or folks on welfare?
Now work ye like beasts, like horses, like mares,
that He might be the first quadrillionaire!