(with apologies to a Better Poet)
Progress, progress everywhere
Of every theory drink;
Progress, progress we all share
But not a man to think
Our very souls do rot: O Christ!
That ever we should be
Like slimy things that have no will
Our voices dead banshees
About, about, we should so rout
The death-fires of our night;
Our minds like bitter witch’s oils
Our blood and bones made wights
Our darkest dreams assured are
That Spirit plagues us so;
Deep within he’s fathomed us
Our Natures now he knows
And everyone, through utter doubt
We’ve withered at the root;
We can not do a single good
For all our ways are moot
Ah! Well today, what darkened looks
From all we, old and young!
Unlike the Cross, our sins emboss
The evils round us hung
We could repent, we could revolt
If blood ran in our veins!
But ice, it will not circulate
So only waste remains
Rime she coats our inner selves
While we sails seas of death;
We travel far, but go nowhere
Our black hearts without breath
Oh progress, progress everywhere
Do we even know the term?
Our vices grow fat like a worm
That one day soon must turn…
Wyrdwend 