The world is strangely calm:
a thousand cities of a thousand sky-scrapers
a thousand cultures with different ways
go about their work and play
And yet there's a general ugliness to it:
"tis a rank and unweeded garden that grows to seed"
To the poetic prophet of Moloch
few took heed
and many of our "great nations"
are cesspools of criminal greed
The Earth's poles are melting:
the Ice Giants advancing
and yet the ignorant billions
cling to their barbarous gods:
old and new
They've ravaged Mesopotamia
for their imperial idol of democracy,
and it's a dark age indeed
for lovers of poetry and philosophy,
especially in "the land of the free"
But the conformist gods of machinery
can't hold back the Ice Giants
with all their fiery anarchy:
and for months
we shall not see the sun
But after the desolation of Ragnarok,
a godless world shall rise from the sea,
and at long last
we'll have peace and liberty
