(Note: I think it is fairly obvious what the following is about, but I fear there will always be someone who takes an ambiguous enemy to be The Jews(tm) or some other commonly scapegoated group, so I'm just gonna explicitly tell you that this is about capitalists. It is a metaphor. Alright? Alright.)

Wealth, it is the domain of dragons, and it is dragons that we allow to live among us. They are enormous, pondering things, full of unwarranted pride and surrounded by a great many small, trembling creatures, who supplicate and elevate the dragon's name for fear of ending the day in its stomach. Dragons hoard. They steal, they destroy, they seduce with serpent tongues, they demand tribute; all this so that they may gather abundant resources in their caves and sleep soundly upon them. They demand our toil, our labor, our sacrifice, our sons and daughters. They give nothing in return; why should they? They are dragons, sleeping upon the bed of riches that shimmer and shine for their enjoyment. Who could stop them?

Dragons burn our fields and shatter our homes, poison our wells and murder our kin. They take what matters from us - our lives, our livelihood, our small joys and large - all so that they may sleep upon piles of gold. They make us believe that gold is all that matters; because if we fail to give them gold, then they will take everything else from us.

They hold us prisoner within their sharp talons and breathe fire down our necks. Their envenomed spittle scours the earth upon which we walk. They throw us small baubles and favors once in a great while, so that we may think them merciful and generous even while they hold us hostage for our entire lives. They think themselves the most powerful creatures on earth.

But if there is one weakness a dragon possesses, it is that it never listens to stories. It is pride, I imagine - a dragon already believes its life is the greatest story there is, what more could it need?

This is its death. If a dragon arrives in a story, you know it will be dead by the end. The purpose of a dragon is to be slain.

The world will turn on without dragons. Watch as your fields grow green once more and your skies clear blue of the smoke. Feel your shoulders lift high without the weight upon them, and listen as whispered fears turn to joyous laughters. Smell the ash give way to the rain and the flowers. See as your kin share fruits from the trees and vegetables from the gardens with the warmest of hearts, and listen, most importantly, as your children dream of futures dragon-free.

So take up your swords and your shields, your torches and your pitchforks. Release a thunderous racket up to the heavens of angry voices and steel clashing steel. Drive the dragons from their caves and stick their carcasses full of blades if they will not relent. Cast their glittering hoard upon the rocks so that no greedy soul may seek to claim it, now or ever on. Let the memory of dragons fade until they are nothing but fairy tales - and hang your sword above the mantle, so that your grandchildren's children will know what to do if the dragons return.