Mine eyes have seen the orgy of the launching of the Sword;
He is searching out the hoardings where the stranger’s wealth is stored;
He hath loosed his fateful lightnings, and with woe and death has scored;
His lust is marching on. I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;
They have builded him an altar in the Eastern dews and damps;
I have read his doomful mission by the dim and flaring lamps –
His night is marching on.

I have read his bandit gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
“As ye deal with my pretensions, so with you my wrath shall deal;
Let the faithless son of Freedom crush the patriot with his heel;
Lo, Greed is marching on!”

In a sordid slime harmonious Greed was born in yonder ditch,
With a longing in his bosom – and for others’ goods an itch.
As Christ died to make men holy, let men die to make us rich –
Our god is marching on.

The Battle Hymn of the Republic Brought Down to Date
Mark Twain, 1901.

Nothing ever really changes, does it?