Oh, blindness of the great
With big bent over backs, they walk like gods.
Sure of hired fists,
Trusting in their power which
Has already lasted so long.
But long is not forever.
Oh Wheel of Fortune, Hope of the People!
Walk, Your Highness, even now with your head up
From your palace.
The eyes of all your foes on you.
You no longer need an architect, a gravedigger will do.
You will not be moving into a new palace, but rather a hole in the ground.
Look around you one more time,
Blind Man.
Does all you once possessed still please you?
Between the Mass and Banquet you are walking to that place
from which the rich and the poor alike do not return.
When the houses of the great collapse,
Those inside are slain, alas.
He would never share his fortune with the poor but now they are sure to share his fate.
Then the plunging wain will drag
The sweating beasts of burden with him, into the abyss.
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