Eyes alight with maniacal gleam
believing only his waking dream.
High priest of what is false and dead
chasing what his mind has bred.
Caring nothing for nature’s law
fearing neither fang nor claw.
Wielding plow and ax to kill
damming stream and leveling hill.
Sowed for profit, not a crop,
only famine can make him stop.
Shave your beard idle your hands
turn your back on the fertile lands.
Build a house and call it home
with all the big wide world to roam.
Hide from rain and the breeze
to soon forget the feel of these.
Electric power has taken the place
of honest sweat running down your face.
Respecting nothing that doesn’t please
kicked back lazy in your ease.
Fouling waters and the air
spoiling everything God made fair.
It’s suicidal can’t you see?
No future left for posterity.
by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved
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