No more to frolic in the sun
Where dreams are grown and battles won
There ageless and immortal stands:
The fair, the lost, great myth of man.
Once we, where hallowed in our wants
Would weave our worlds into a song
Until the age of reason wrung
…a terrible end to the dance.
Without a laughing final spin
The sergeant of our doom barged in
To order all our nonsense, right!
We’d only to agree with him.
So, beating all our instruments
Into the sword of godless war
Upon the drumbeat of good sense
We march, and frolic here, no more.