Ever-grinning mass of non-contemplative countenances,
Each an epitome of retrograde renaissances.
Turned into ever streaming throng of faceless automatons.
Oblivious of deep-seeded jostling in global contentions,
Yet eternally preoccupied with narcissistic frolics and sustenances.
Ah but jolly! These to dictators present a veritable heaven,
When only idiosyncratic trivialities is for the masses striven.
Gravest is bondage when the shackled is of his freedom convinced,
For he not only is imprisoned, but a moron, dyed and seasoned.
Thus when we fail to question our varied policies is tyranny a given.
‘Tis indeed a Saturnalia of dictatorial bliss,
For in ignorance does justice cease.
Brethren undertake a respite from this muteness
Must you be beseeched? This is madness!
Alas I can only hope, so hope it is.
There is no hope.
Doomed to a ceaseless affinity for superficiality,
Their mind in delighted darkness grope.
Where’s that fabled light at the tunnel’s yonder extremity
Is that it I see, is it?