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
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