(741) During these days was Mammon the mighty
Worshipped on Wet's blossoming banks
By powerful people in marble-paved mansions
Trade was their talent, profit their profession.

(742) Proud were the people of Mammon the mighty
Champagne they cherished and quaffed in large quantums
Ten thousand tie-pins glittered and glistened
Warnings the wet-men ridiculed rigidly.

(743) Crisis the cursed, the ghastly half-goddess
Depression's daughter, climbed down to this county
Came as calamity over these optimists
Just as their jesting chorus had climaxed.

(744) Shares she shattered and rates she reduced,
Hedge fonds she harrassed, currencies crumbled
Companies collapsed, the Wet-people withered
Poverty plagued them, the Wet swelled from weeping.

[...]

(785) The tale will now turn back to woe-stricken Wet-land
Where Monorail's metal had rusted now roughly
Thirty and three years. And bravely the brokers
Bought their wealth back with ingenious investments.

(786) Alas, now approached the end of their era:
Crisis the cursed, Depression's daughter
Struck even stronger with maws made of mithril
This time the trade refused to recover.

(787) This was a time now for prophets and preachers
Misguided masses flocked to the false ones
Henceforth a hanky they worshipped. And Wet-land
Fell to the fury of red revolution.