SONS of men, from the wombs of wistful
women,
not
piston-mechanical-begotten,
sons of men, with the wondering eyes of
life
hark! hark!
step aside silently and swiftly.
The machine has got you, is turning you round
and round
and
confusing you, and feeding itself on your life.
Softly, subtly, secretly, in
soul first, then in spirit, then in body
slip aside, slip
out
from the
entanglement of the giggling machine
that sprawls across the earth in iron
imbecility.
Softly,
subtly, secretly, saying nothing
step aside, step out of it, it is eating you
up,
O step aside,
with decision, sons of men, with decision.