When have we dropped as far as we can go?
When have we reached the bottom of the well?
When have the western nations sunk so low,
They can but rise, or else descend to Hell.
Is there a warning? Does there ring a bell?
No, but the signs are clear to open eyes —
The crimes committed and the burning smell
Of flesh that is our own, but never cries —
That bursts into the light and quickly dies.
Yet for this damned destruction do we weep?
Oh no, we cloak the crime with smiles and lies.
We gladly sow, then prematurely reap.
We pull from fertile earth the sprouting seeds,
And then discard them, as one would with weeds.
— D.N. O’Brien