Money laughs at me in the darkness of the night. I see the faces of financiers long dead, twisted in the agony of the credit crunch. O Master, will it ever end?
Money laughs at me in the early morn. Last night's demons have fled. But money still laughs. Laughing and laughing and laughing. O Master, what is the joke?
The joke, my child, is the fire in the eyes of a banker. The wind in the desert. The moon in the night sky. The burning sun. The sand in our hearts. The evil words that spill from our mouths. O my children, my brothers, my sisters, we are sinners. Money does not love us.
These could be the words of Jack. These could be the words of Satan. I am sad and lost, whirling in the desert, burning in the chaos of the markets, and screaming for Big Herb.
