2005

Mother, God and apple pie
Have gone down the drain,
Gone, the quiet, peaceful walks
On a country lane,
Villages, which sleep all day,
Lazy in the sun,
All the silent happiness
Suddenly is gone,
Noise, pollution is the game,
Big computers counting you,
And a number is your name,
Cattle cars take you to work,
Big Brother is watching you,
Non-conformists have a quirk,
Quickly disassemble them
And remodel them again
Into robots which say "yes",
Gad, is this a holy mess.

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2005 Alfred Charasz