The money magic tree,

Its early spring buds,

Were childhoods,

Following – Led by the trail of bread crumbs in to the enchanting woods,

no money changed hands,

but so many were lost, in the benefit and cost,

early morning frost,

Of relentless moving parts, a sleepless clatter,

Starts time from its life loving slumbers

And begun the ticking implosion of the time bomb,

The accumulation numbering of life’s song,

While its roots were grabbing land, hand, over fist,

Behind the smoke screen of the imperial tryst,

soul saving and the science of discovery,

Lo and behold, look, there’s a colony,

Cultures collide, in a civilising genocide,

Prime real estate cleansed free, of indigenous fertilities,

For the growth of magic money terror trees,

From which, in the southern breeze,

Swung fruit of defying properties,

black bodies, twisted feudal commodities,

Lynching ceremonies, of allegiances’,

To the currencies, of the royal republic, and its systematic,

margin of error,

The shoots showing of the full blown terror,

the capitalist war on forever,

Where profit as loss expands to gloss, over life,

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