There's a sickness taken hold
And it's going down so deep
It's a sickness of the soul
It'll make the widows weep
It's a chill in the bones
It's a shadow on the peak
The sun's behind a veil
The birds don't dare speak
It's a sickness of the women
It's all so ego driven
They hold their wands of power
And conduct their coven
They're stewing up some trouble
For that's all they want to do
They can never stop the feeling
Of their fingers turning screws
And changing and altering
And building in their image
A Roman empire
With a single figure
A Queen of the Nile
A pool of crocodiles
You can never out rancour
Those pesky art bankers
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