Aaaahhh!!! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!!!!

The market is falling!  The market is falling!

Again.

He’s jittery

(of course he’s a he: only a he would so kill)

and he can’t quite keep his invisible hand still.

Does it shake ‘cause he’s a pill-poppin’ fiend?

Or ‘cause, self-indulgent, his pants he has creamed?

He’s spooked, the kook, by his own reflection:

he gets depressed by the thought of depression.

So, I’ll make a confession:

I never liked him anyways,

not his materialist craze, not the greed-glazed gaze,

not to mention his brazen pillaging, setting all ablaze.

So let him shrink, downturn, and crash,

so we won’t all die from affluenza’s rash:

the curse being so set on makin’ mad cash

that we won’t see the global fever

that could kill us all in a fiery flash.