Now all the gods have fled
Our noble king is dead
A sickly greed has spread across the land
Every tear's been shed
Every vein has bled
And but a few crumbs of bread fall from the pan

The Fates will sigh, "alas"
As if the die is cast
If we don't pull our heads out of the sand
Ain't asking for no dough, bro
Money, honey
Marzipan, lend us your hand
It's time to stick it to the man