Oh feller, fell no woods,
Fell no woods anymore
For sarcophagus, for here’s
Come with us massive
Massacre of masses
Fell no tress in vain
Say to bury the dead
As in quantum we now die
So do we be quaffed off
Like wastes in the bin
You see why you fell no tress
Spare your palms the burnings
And heart of the heaves
For the big-mandible monster
Shall carve a enough cave
For our sarcophagus
Then be glad ye cave dwellers
For your grief is past by death
Would of death still be stricken?
Nor by its pangs be frozen?
If not we who mourn in terror
Of your demise in cruelty
Oh behold the scenic grandeur
Of the graveyards of the slain
Flowered hither and yon in silence
In silence of brutality and inhumanity
In silence of many unfulfilled dreams
In silence of a world left behind
In silence; in silence of vanity…
Wait; we shall all soon be there
See, all of us, and you that terrorizes
Well woes if you alone be left o’er
For there shall be nothing to terrorize
But you in terror of loneliness!
In terror, in terror of loneliness
Peace here is elixir, and mirage is hope
For the chain bomb is ignited
The catastrophic concatenation of evil
And it shall burn and burn and burn
Till all geography is burnt blunt
And our generation begone
Yes we shall all soon be spent
From teens that had had their first sex
To the grayed who had lost their libido
For we all had eaten of and seen
The violent fruit of naked violence
Forbidden ere time began
Fell no trees Oh feller, and border not
To lay waste in wasting yourself synergy
To construct coffins for our generations
Of dooms and Armageddon
Then shall peace be born of strife
If and only if mothers in prospect
From the yet to be born and the virgins
Instruct the new vegetation of humanity
Therein from the cradles rocked and on
To behold oneself in other selves
In seeing one’s face in other faces
From this breeds, then shall be bred
A religion of humanity whereof,
Oh just whereof in the name of humans
And to its glory no blood is split or spilled
In the name of God nor in the name of state
Oh feller, would you not but concede
That if women had been on their posts
Oh if the eves had done their jobs
In speaking virtues to tenders ears
And love right in the cradles, that
There might be mere grief but in brief
Such as in toils that ends in spoils
The apocalypse end is nigh if only eves
Set on eaves of their womanhood
In casting future Adams from the crib
To forms of responsibility
« return.