[Verse 1] Henry's treasury gasping, coffers scraped to tin, he reads the monks' ledger, says the abbeys let him in, strip the lead off rooftops, melt the chalice down, sell the stone and timber, wear a leaner crown, but the gold inside the coin grows thinner with each mint, the Great Debasement whispers that value's just a hint. [Chorus] Six doors swing when the coffers cry: tax the living, borrow sly, sell the silver, thin the gold, break the bond, or grip and hold— repress the lender, bend the vow, same six doors, same six now. [Verse 2] Centuries later, concrete highways crack and sag, the treasury can't foot the bill to build the bridges back, so lease the airport, sign the toll-road deal tonight, private cash arrives today, the public pays the rent for life, PFI's a cousin to the abbey's auction block— gross debt shrinks on paper while the net worth takes a knock. [Chorus] Six doors swing when the coffers cry: tax the living, borrow sly, sell the silver, thin the gold, break the bond, or grip and hold— repress the lender, bend the vow, same six doors, same six now. [Verse 3] Berlin wheelbarrows hauling marks to buy a single loaf, the press plates spinning endless proof that printing is the cousin of the Tudor's debased groat, the same disease just wearing a different overcoat, inflate the debt away, let savers eat the cost, the currency's a melting thing, its purchasing power lost. [Bridge] Delta b equals r minus g, over one plus g, times b, minus the primary balance—that's the arithmetic decree, if interest outruns growth, the ratio climbs the stair, run a surplus, keep pb kind, and you can dodge the snare, but miss a year, let r beat g, the mountain won't stay still— growth's your quiet ally, interest is the bill. [Verse 4] When nobody will lend you, there's reschedule, there's default, tell the bondholder "later," watch the yield curve vault, or quieter still, repression: pension funds get told to buy the bonds the state is pushing at a rate that short-strings gold, captive markets, rate caps, reserves pinned to the floor— the oldest trick in ledger-craft, just filed through a newer door. [Chorus] Six doors swing when the coffers cry: tax the living, borrow sly, sell the silver, thin the gold, break the bond, or grip and hold— repress the lender, bend the vow, same six doors, same six now. [Outro] Six doors, one palace, five hundred years of debt, tax it, loan it, sell it, print it, break it, or repress it yet, count the gross, forget the net—you'll learn in Part Nine why the asset leaves the balance sheet, but the liability won't die.
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