Unflinching, in gloom, we stand and stare And wonder from whence these changes came Disarmed and powerless within their glare They turned our children against us With such foul and devious acts of love, Weapons of empathy, compassion and care; Like skeletons in the Triumph of Death, They framed us to bide forever there They whom whisper from infant to youth They whom despise the wisdom of age They whom condition with words of untruth They whom would burn history's page And what are we but yesterday's men, Grown weary from repetition and grind, Spectators in a landscape of winter's make, Watching the blind leading the blind In old times, before that wretched war, A steady progress, a constant flame: A future shaped from a rich before, They turned the future against us And when giants sleep, battered by storms, They stand on their shoulders and boast: They are a cancerous sore on this great land, They are parasites killing the host And, in hope, from a long and binding sleep, The children will wake to the sound of strife And free us from this landscape of winter's make, To re-enter the triumph of life.