Behold how swiftly Man has bloomed and all he has achieved.
Today he's splitting atoms. Yesterday, he was in the trees.
The last four billion years ticked by with steady, smooth progression,
yet in a blink Man dropped his flint to rocket past the heavens.
He's building on a weak foundation, jammed with flaws and rules,
bending knees for royalty while they incubate their jewels.
God forbid we cause offence, or shave against the grain.
Standing tall against the Man will always end the same...
Conforming to tradition is meant to give our lives direction,
accumulating wealth to spend, awaiting consummation.
Those atop the shrine may censor what we see and hear,
but I'll decide which words I use, they cannot interfere.
We muddle through with turbulence, and often little luck,
so I won't seek permission should I feel like saying ‘damn’.
When Earth is all but dormant and the Sun has scorched her crust,
when life is but a memory, all evidence reduced to dust.
When her oceans overboil and her land is flowing red,
who’ll be here enforcing all these guidelines we protect?
Man assigned himself importance in explaining why he's here,
concocting gods and holy books to pump us full of fear.
Regardless of priorities across this varied spectrum,
our mutual fate remains the same, life always finds an ending.