On a slippery London street
in the fog sublunary and white
Countless forms will pass you by
But if you should call out to them – paralysis
A crown of thorns or it is mud?
who can tell?
Thoughts heaven’s miracles in their eyes
or maybe just a Godless drunk
You’d think that it’ll be a Biblical book
stranded in the mud
that no one wants or needs anymore
no time to think of virtue
Sorrow and Money – two words
flutter white in her eyes
where have you been? I keep that to myself!
where are you going? Surely, toward nothing!
So like a hag humanity that weeps today and sneers
What History? She knows only Blood
What Society? She knows only Money!