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no masters no more in the world we implore
the state of our age shall be thrown to the shore
if not for the colors that glow 'neath the sun,
no beauty for anyone
no detail on time on the throwaway line
now brawn is the victor, the loser the mind
if not for the ruins if what was once now,
no beauty for anyone
gone is the ache and the wail
gone is the words for to tell
gone is the hunger that gnaws at the bone
gone is the tale of our years
gone is the blood and the tears
gone is all but a quarry of stone
no rest ever earned, creativity turned
of the nature from which it incessantly churned
if not for a morning that surely will come,
no beauty for anyone

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