The march of machine is dead

We live in their casualties
Now disorder keeps their stead
And many are authorities

Back to the days of Gaul
Of hearty fists and waving faith
Progression could not conquer all
Rather, it empowered our wrath

Merciless beasts
With heavy arms
Dragon’s teeth
And Winter’s charm
Bleak processions
And swift digression
Lead the way
Through adolescence

Awaiting the day
The sky comes down
To our new limits
Below the ground

A crux on the Vaticans!
It was not theirs to bear
Coins to the Semaritans!
Finally, their fair share

The plight of Copenhagen
Was all the fuel spilt
From this flighty solution
That the Wright brothers built

We mined from diamond to salts
And so zealously we axed
With such explosive results
The economy collapsed

Like the puppy rewarded for violence
With no understanding of our role
We live without true sentience
And murder all we know

But like that mongrel, some day
We must come to learn
If we scorch all around us
Soon we too will burn

Image of Copenhagen via Wikipedia