Laudator Temporis Acti

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The woodcutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of investment bankers, each one singing his as it should be subprime and unregulated,
The data entry clerk singing his as he taps on his computer keyboard,
The portfolio manager singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The credit counselor singing what belongs to him in his cubicle, the system administrator singing in the server room,
The chief financial officer singing as he sits on his ergonomic chair, the administrative assistant singing as she stands in front of the copy machine,
The financial planner's song, the mortgage broker's on his morning commute, or at noon intermission or at close of business,
The monotonous singing of the customer service representative, or of the telemarketer at work, or of the girl standing at the point of sale terminal or waitressing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of karaoke contestants, uninhibited, out-of-tune,
Singing with quavering voices their insipid pop songs.