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