The Battle of Cards

The Battle of cards, my son
Is the Battle of swords
In the Field of blood,
Only victory or loss
No middle grounds.

The Battle of cards
Is the Battle of ballots
Waged in the strength of gold bullets,
By same war gods
At whom our forefathers could only clamour.

The Battle of cards
Is the game of numbers;
Half and half equals ten
And ten plus ten equals half,
So says the card shufflers.

The Battle of cards, my son
Is the Battle of law
Fought in the court of law
By learned silks
Briefed with a brown envelope the night before
And won by the highest bidder.

The Battle of cards
Is like a puff of an opium
Making the power-crazy preach democracy;
It drives tribesmen against tribesmen
And religion against religion.

The Battle of cards
Is a game for the callous
Played on the fear of the pious;
It is the pain of the many
For the gain of the few.

The Battle of cards, my son
Is the game of the old
Played by the old
For the benefit of the old.

In the Battle of cards, my son
Nothing is permanent but interest
Nothing is truer than pretense;
Nothing is meant to last in the battle of cards
Nothing is meant to last,
No God can fashion a solution
Only revolution!