O bankers, fear not, there will be no meltdown in the markets. There will be no hell of debt, no death of shares. But you must let money burn inside you. Let money burn you. And if you enjoy the burning, you will be set free.
Northern Rock. The Bank of England is coming to save you. Rejoice!
O bankers, the markets will not melt. Do not fear the volatility of the markets. Show love. As a ship's captain loves the cruel sea.
O you men and women of doom who mock the hard-working bankers, traders and analysts of this world, prepare for a great time of despair. You shall be punished. You shall fall into the pit. All of you shall fall. For it is written in the book of the morose monk.
I call upon Big Herb, Ganesh and all the gods of the holy cash - free my people! Help me lead them from the desert to the green plains of plenty. They have worked hard and surely they must be rewarded now, or is there no justice?
Yes. Yes. Yes. There is justice. I see it in the smile of the banker who, only yesterday, had no faith. I see it in the gold clouds hovering over Threadneedle Street. Rejoice!
O bankers, before you die, you will see the face of God. Yes, the one god to whom all the others answer. Until then, sing. Sing of money. Chant. The chant of the burning cash!
Northern Rock. The Bank of England is coming to save you. Rejoice!
O bankers, the markets will not melt. Do not fear the volatility of the markets. Show love. As a ship's captain loves the cruel sea.
O you men and women of doom who mock the hard-working bankers, traders and analysts of this world, prepare for a great time of despair. You shall be punished. You shall fall into the pit. All of you shall fall. For it is written in the book of the morose monk.
I call upon Big Herb, Ganesh and all the gods of the holy cash - free my people! Help me lead them from the desert to the green plains of plenty. They have worked hard and surely they must be rewarded now, or is there no justice?
Yes. Yes. Yes. There is justice. I see it in the smile of the banker who, only yesterday, had no faith. I see it in the gold clouds hovering over Threadneedle Street. Rejoice!
O bankers, before you die, you will see the face of God. Yes, the one god to whom all the others answer. Until then, sing. Sing of money. Chant. The chant of the burning cash!
