Smoke upon water; grey and cold
One that reflects only starlight
So that night follows day like a ghost
Where strong sleep upon the weak
And not just sleep but utterly conquer
This world of men and machines
It labours ceaselessly in its increase
Always to entrap the innocent
But this is not my world yet
The shadow holds no sway
But ever it lengthens each dawn
Stretches out its hand nearer
And it will take hold of us all
If we do not make a stand
We have but eight weeks
To make a last alliance
From those who would be better