With Apologies to Percy Shelley…

I met a traveler from Manhattan Island
Who said: “Those vast towers of steel and stone
Stand in the street. Near them on the ground,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
`My name is Finance, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level streets stretch far away.
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