There will be no end soon
If I've seen things right that have come
People will be scared
They never will see anything
Meanwhile all of my friends have been struck dumb
How can no final thing come
When our faces are pulled from us
How can someone blame
Who they refuse to name
For pulling other people down with them
Some have risen, they are lucky
To have their fall delayed by people
What they have is threaded
Grafted, and plotted
Played out and bad
Some have made mistakes for us
Waiting by the door for us
We told them to go ahead
Their support is just a weight
Better to sever the weighted limb
Where is it hanging tonight
It is not looming to propel us along
We move ourselves to it
One year to sit in dirt
One cycle with which to comment upon the dirt