Verse 1 The denarius, once of silver pure, Now copper-core, a counterfeit cure. The legions paid in debased, worthless coin, As Rome's great pillars began to disjoin. The value fled, a slow and silent thief, Transferring power, compounding grief. The prudent saved, and watched their fortunes fade, While minters built empires on the trade they made. Chorus Loo-san oy vay-oh-an Mee-kal ah-zoh-dee-ah Soh-lash lohnsh Ohd ah-ee oh-rohkh Kah-sarm oh-hoh-reh-lah Bah-gee-leh zeern Ve-fah-zod oo-ah-noh-an Pah-meh-beh-tah Verse 2 Then Weimar’s press, a whirring, frantic wheel, Printing marks on paper, a surreal deal. A loaf of bread, a billion marks to buy, A lifetime’s savings, in a blink, runs dry. Wheelbarrows of cash for a simple meal, The many broken by the cruel, unreal. The factory owner, with his debt wiped clean, Bought lands and futures, a predatory scene. Chorus Loo-san oy vay-oh-an Mee-kal ah-zoh-dee-ah Soh-lash lohnsh Ohd ah-ee oh-rohkh Kah-sarm oh-hoh-reh-lah Bah-gee-leh zeern Ve-fah-zod oo-ah-noh-an Pah-meh-beh-tah (Music shifts to a percussive, almost chaotic African rhythm) Verse 3 A modern tale in Zimbabwe's sun, Where hyperinflation's final race was run. A trillion-dollar note, a bitter prize, Reflected hollow, desperate eyes. An instant millionaire, yet bankrupt, poor, While those with foresight had secured the door. Their wealth in assets, real and held abroad, As common hope was brutally ignored. (Music transforms. It becomes ethereal, choral, and majestic. A clear, bell-like sound rings out) Chorus Loo-san oy vay-oh-an Mee-kal ah-zoh-dee-ah Soh-lash lohnsh Ohd ah-ee oh-rohkh Kah-sarm oh-hoh-reh-lah Bah-gee-leh zeern Ve-fah-zod oo-ah-noh-an Pah-meh-beh-tah (Music returns to the somber tone of the first verse, but with a hint of the chorus's melody lingering) Verse 4 The cycle turns, the script remains the same, Just different actors in the dying game. The print runs hot, the digits start to climb, Another chapter in this paradigm. The unaware cling to the paper promise, While drinking slowly from a poisoned chalice. Their labour stolen, a tax they cannot see, A silent transfer to the elite's decree. (Chorus returns, more powerful and layered with conviction) Chorus Loo-san oy vay-oh-an Mee-kal ah-zoh-dee-ah Soh-lash lohnsh Ohd ah-ee oh-rohkh Kah-sarm oh-hoh-reh-lah Bah-gee-leh zeern Ve-fah-zod oo-ah-noh-an Pah-meh-beh-tah Loo-san oy vay-oh-an Mee-kal ah-zoh-dee-ah Soh-lash lohnsh Ohd ah-ee oh-rohkh Kah-sarm oh-hoh-reh-lah Bah-gee-leh zeern Ve-fah-zod oo-ah-noh-an Pah-meh-beh-tah Loo-san oy vay-oh-an Mee-kal ah-zoh-dee-ah Soh-lash lohnsh Ohd ah-ee oh-rohkh Kah-sarm oh-hoh-reh-lah Bah-gee-leh zeern Ve-fah-zod oo-ah-noh-an Pah-meh-beh-tah
