There is no quidance in your kingdom

Your wicked walk in Babylon

There is no wisdom to your freedom

The richest man in babylon



Your beggars sleep outside your doorway

Your prophets leave to wonder on

You fall asleep at night with worry

The saddest man in Babylon



The wicked stench of exploitation

Hangs in the air and fingers on

Beneath the praise and admiration

The weakest man in Babylon



There is no hope left in your kingdom

Your servants have burned all their songs

Nobody here remembers freedom

The richest man in Babylon