Contre le Monde, Contre la Vie
'What may this fluorescent pageant mean?
Who can the evanescent object glean?
He that is dead is the key of Lifeâ
Gone is the symbol, deep is the grave!'
To those of us for whom
Sight has meant seeing abysses
The waking world has been an insult
Our instinct has always been
To turn inward and turn away
From the life of the polis
Turn inward
To horrors more gloriously vibrant
Beyond vistas of fabrication
Where wars of psyche and shadow
Devour and deform and give birth
There, under our own raging skies
The breath of Moloch torn away
We were free and wild as the ancients
We have been the shadows of this age
Our dreams crawled like pioneer weeds
On the trail of new death
'Man is a breath, and Life is the fire;
Wrest from the aeons the heart of gold!
Tear from the fabric the threads that are old!'