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In her prosperous years she paraded her fat, with her cellulite. But in her lean years the cheap world-mistress is just an ugly old woman. Like a skinny skeleton she is displayed as example in famine. Once upon a time all the kings of the earth were, as your lovers, faithful to your Babylon.  They lustfully followed your world-treasures. Your bankers also trusted in you, firmly and steadfastly.    

But your once bright neon festival lights now shine exceedingly dim and weak. Heaven is waiting in suspense to see your last fall. While the world desperately ruminates on your remainders, your merchants grieve like widowers in mourning.  Listen how quirky Russia is mocking you now. Yes, covertly he bellows exuberantly. So you oh whore, is now sitting, over many waters, imprisoned in your own golden cage.      

Yes, with your euro that slowly but surely is collapsing under your mount. In what will you trust now, oh world-human, in your uncertain future? While you see the eternal fall of your Babylonian queen. To whom will you reach out with your begging hand in the big oppression? Look, even if you can still buy and sell with your mark, the mark of Balaam, there is no merchandise to view, to purchase.