And night still crashes into the day
Places a dark muzzle upon creativityAnd like bees that quiet at dusk
Upon the securing warmth of society
We hum in such a false concern
Wax in faux outrage over tragedy
But ever so restless, still we sleep
One on top of another like a plague
Slumber upon the despoiled comb of greed
Drowsing angels on our coffers of gold
And all our dreams wither on waking
For we dare not now remember them