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This is a poem written by my Oma. Its dated 1979. I'm typing it as is so please excuse the spelling for she was dutch.
Power
St. Niclas was a wealthy guy,
Which made the giving easy,
Where-ever poverty, he stood by,
His hands were never greasy.
They worshipped the capitalist,
As Santa, or Saint Nick,
World fame he got on christmas night,
From Gdansk to Manotic.
Napoleon was poor as dirt,
Quite short with a small prick,
He murdered millions and got fame,
Almost as much as Nick.
Then Jezus came the alchemist,
From the monastery of Beth - She - Dah,
He studied magic thirty years,
Like Carlos Castaneda.
Before he pulled his greatest stunt,
He held his last reception,
Judas in charge of all the funds,
Was used for the deception.
For all the poor there was no hope,
the rich had the advantage,
And every bishop, priest and pope,
Became " scaucerers apprentice".
Saints, priests and rulers, popes and rats,
Who caused a bloody nation,
Made people crawl and bend there heads,
To pray and admiration.
In every church, on every square,
The murderers are worshiped,
A thinking person who would dare,
To speak up, he was horsewipped.
( or burned at the steak, or pulled apart, or tortured to death)
Oh Masters, Johnson, Jung and Freud,
Were your logic thoughts in vain?
Well by the time you came to help,
The world was quite insane!
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