| 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 yourself 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 did surprise
|
| We’ll open his eyes |