Why have men become much less than ere they ever were?
Why is Truth the last true thing that they will ever serve?
Why are men devoid of honor, ambition, merit – drive
Why are they now merely subjects of their groping groups and tribes?
Why are men such hapless thralls to reckless theories and to fools?
When they were born to master all, not be the witless tools
Why do men now scrape and bow and bend to other men?
Why do others sanction them in their free and open sins?
Why are men now slave to words but aliens to deeds?
What does man now great respect, what is it that he heeds?
Where does man now lay his head to find his missing peace?
When comes the day men rise again to stand upon their feet?
How can a man so be a man when filled with fright and fear?
How secure can man now ever be when the serf within appears?
Why are men by long deception often so entranced?
A passive wish? It must be so, for it could not just be chance
Guile and craftwerk, deceit and fraud, cunning like a snake
What of these can decent men of their inner selves so make?
I long to know, above-below, how man has come to this?
Yet in his fête and revere he does not dare resist
Night and day, come what may, he toils upon the Wheel
Yet labors not the man in him, that is cold and still
Bury him, it matters not, he will claw up from his grave
A walking corpse, yet still stillborn; nothing ventured, nothing saved
An age will come when that corpse will fail and even it will rot
He’ll warrant it, I’ll grant you that, and all will mourn him not
When did man forget himself having bought his fate with blood?
Then fade away to exchange himself for some feces mixed with mud?
The modern man would sell his soul for a little hope and change
No matter that it all will fail to inflict some honest pain
The modern man would not risk himself to rescue those in need
The modern man, a puny man, from every battlefield he flees
The modern man he calculates, deserts the wounded and dead
The modern man he speculates but heeds not those who’ve bled
The modern man, bondservice man, how freely does he live?
He’s bought and sold, or so I’m told, the rest he’s forced to give
Integrity, and honesty, the Virtues fled forsooth
When did he in desperate need give up such pursuits?
The vices long, the Viking’s song, it’s all the same to him
One thing or another he will knit up as his hymns
Modern man, oh modern man, tell us all now what you bring?
I thought as much, you filthy slut, you’re just the whore of kings
Tyranny and oppression ride with your dearth and dread
Entitle you to all you’ve earned, and now, it’s all been said
Except for this, and in the end, how much smaller can you grow?
Before you’re gone, for nothing else, will then be left for show…
Wyrdwend 