• O’ brave new world,
    With trees so tall,
    And minds of stone.

    Bare caverns of slate.
    A creator bearing down,
    With echoing words to elate.

    Passion burns hopes
    With a fallacious roar.
    The fumes scar and choke.

    Being told lies since birth,
    The ants mill about blind.
    An overseer stifles his mirth.

    They stoop over miles of moving land,
    These paths, the bind,
    Struggle and fight, your fate is planned.

    You press upon me, with soma,
    Cover up for your faults.
    I refuse your indulgent coma.

    Shunned then suffocated,
    Lies my asphyxiated mother.
    Another dead by those who dictated;

    Civilization is sterilization,
    A gramme in time saves nine,
    Civilization requires salvation,
    And it is time for mine.

    Cleanliness is next to Fordliness.
    Sanity is next to logic.
    God,
    Lord,
    Ford,
    This is all too much for me.