The wax sensation
Cultivated alienation
Like swarming bees
Are the pale people

Robed in plastic fiber wings
Lowered sails, roaring wind
Ambition melting down
Sticky, wet alien-eyes

The loss of a generation
Deprived and detached
From divinity
An era of insolence

The crowded head
And broken heart
The fallen flesh
And wants at hand

Oh but the number!
Thousands upon thousands
Corpus torn asunder