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There's the stillness of death on a deathly unliving sea, |
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And the motor car magical world long since ceased to be, |
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When the eve-bitten apple returned to destroy the tree. |
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Incestuous ancestry's charabanc ride, |
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Spawning new millions throws the world on it's side. |
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Supporting their far-flung illusion, the national curse, |
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And those with no sandwiches please get off the bus. |
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The excrement bubbles, |
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The century's slime decays |
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And the brainwashing government lackeys |
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Would have us say |
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It's under control and we'll soon be on our way |
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To a grand year for babies and quiz panel games |
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Of the hot hungry millions you'll be sure to remain. |
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The natural resources are dwindling and no one grows old, |
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And those with no homes to go to, please dig yourself holes. |
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We wandered through quiet lands, felt the first breath of snow. |
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Searched for the last pigeon, slate grey |
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I've been told. |
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Stumbled on a daffodil which she crushed in the rush, heard it sigh, |
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And left it to die. |
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At once felt remorse and were touched by the loss of our own, |
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Held it's poor broken head in her hands, |
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Dropped soft tears in the snow, |
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And it's only the taking that makes you what you are. |
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Wond'ring aloud will a son one day be born |
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To share in our infancy |
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In the child's path we've worn. |
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In the aging seclusion of this earth that our birth did surprise |
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We'll open his eyes. |
