> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://goodoil.news/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Last Call at the Capitalist Arms - URL: https://goodoil.news/last-call-at-the-capitalist-arms/ - Published: 2021-01-12T21:30:00.000Z - Updated: 2022-02-26T01:41:16.000Z - Author: Chris 'Worzel' Sellars - Tags: Economy, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2024-07-17 02:38 **Chris Sellars** It had to end of course. Anyone who thought the status quo was reasonable or sustainable were delusional. They were living in what has always been referred to as a fool’s paradise. Alas, paradise cannot be realised in this transitory material world. We live imprisoned by space and time and are subject to the law of cause and effect. Since 1971 the global financial system has not been based on any real measure of value. The gold standard was abandoned in favour of a [fiat currency](https://goodoil.news/todays-world-is-awash-with-fiat-money/) based on government bonds. A bondsman as everybody knows is a debt slave. Linked to the US Dollar and oil it became known as the petrodollar. Since then central banks have enslaved nations and people with debt and printed money into worthlessness. The strong delusion that was promised is upon the world and people can no longer tell fact from fiction or objective truth from wishful thinking. Astonishingly what most people wish for looks to me more like Hell than Paradise. *As rust decays the empires flimsy framework* *And the spirit of corruption wins the day* *The worm has burrowed to the very marrow* *And we realise that there’ll be hell to pay.* From my mountain perch amongst the trees the situation looks as follows: The landlord, tired and a trifle grumpy, rinses the glasses. It has been a torrid time. Angel, the barmaid, a little frazzled, cleans the tables. What had started out as a quiet drink after a day’s work had somehow turned into a rollicking party and no one had wanted it to end. What a party it was: sex, drugs, and rock and roll with fights in the car park. Gamblers, ramblers, chancers, dancers, contenders and pretenders. All drunk with the wine of vintages old and young. They have drunk the cellar dry and themselves to dissipation and exhaustion. So now it is closing time at the Capitalist Arms. “Alright, everybody! The party’s over It’s time to go home. No one’s got any money left and you have all exhausted your credit so I have to close the bar. We’ve all had a whale of a time but now there are bugger all whales left. It’s time to return to your land, your nation, your people, yourself and your god. No matter who you are or where you are from, the world is no longer your oyster. It is rather in crisis, your country needs you. “All you hubristic, hypocritical, self-deluded, worldly-wise fools: For so long you have sat here in my bar telling everyone what you know and a great deal more besides. Without putting any of it into practice. You think you have a few answers. Its time shut up and put them into practice and show us how its done. Now is the time to show your mettle. “Those who have called yourselves leaders and spent most of your time and ours telling us how clever you are: We are tired of your talk. Your words are smoke, they have no substance. Your empire is a house of cards and now the winds of change are blowing it cannot stand. It is time to stop the chatter and go home. “Like Sodom and Gomorrah and Babylon the great the structure you have built is rotten to the core and is crumbling. It is but small comfort knowing that you must drink from your own cistern. Go and begin doing something useful. “We appreciate that it often seems like the grass is greener on the other side of the fence and that sometimes it actually is. This though is mostly because you have either, trampled it or otherwise mismanaged the pasture on your own side of the fence. It is no solution to jump the fence and graze the fields of others. Time to start replanting and tending your own pasture. “All you prancers and dancers who have come to believe that life is but a ball and that this extended party was the reality, it is not. Pain, suffering, toil and death are the real seasoning of life; leave my bar, you have no more credit. “You thought you could have your cake and eat it but now you have diabetes and your heart is sick and tired. When the hotel doors are closed and the staff have left to rest in peace you will find yourself outside on the pavement in the clear harsh light of day. Have you got a home to go to or are you just a vagrant soul?” The Fiddlers Ball The writers talk in riddles And the lawyers play the fiddle Everybody’s dressed up to the nines The empire’s in decay And there’l be Hell to pay It really is the best and worst of times The salesmen play a hunch Try and beat ya to the punch Staggeringly drunk with their success Till they curl up in a corner Takin’ drugs by doctors order Desperate to manage their distress Consuming lies, the lunch is free For just deserts there is a fee And everybody’s moving in a trance got so much ‘n wanting more paying court to Babylon’s whore And she leads them in a very merry dance There’s mutton dressed as lamb Lining up to taste the ham But they know that hunger’s never gonna go Just fillin in the time With the music and the wine Don’t ya know ya reap just what ya sow ? They’re all actors by vocation and they’re shooting on location Simply players tryin’ to play a part. And finding consolation with adulterous fornication The sticky sweetness of a jammy tart. It’s one for one, and none for all Dancing at the fiddlers ball The dancers stumble clumsily around there’s lots of steps they can’t recall And pride comes before the fall that puts em – six foot underground Still the party rages on There’s no end until the dawn And everyone is taken for a ride With broken dreams and facial creams Busting seams, with silent screams Laughing when they really should have cried Just like Sodom and Gomorrah There’s no thought about tomorrow It’s a fracas that is on for one and all Seems like no-one will behave As they dance toward the grave And before they go, to Hell, they’ll trash the hall Drunk to beat the band It can be hard to make a stand But everybody knows they should be leaving Cause it’s been going on for years And it’s bound to end in tears As they get tangled in the web they have been weaving When the dancing’s over and the piper must be paid Ain’t nobody getting drunk, no-one getting laid Things aren’t looking quite so good in the harsh clear light of day sitting with a sore head and a little bit of shame wondering why they feel like death and where to place the blame Its time to face the music and they cannot get away Cannot feel with a heart of stone, or run with feet of clay. **Please share this BFD article so others can discover *The BFD.***