American Morning

Wake up, yea, to see this beautiful world Of skyrises, land rangers, androids pearled Comfort’s ocean, fount of titillation Man’s glory, wondrous civilisation!

We’ve lit the country whole but not our soul Know each trade’s goal but not inner control If need be, make dole, play nobleman’s role For pleasure, man’s aim sole, we’ll pay each toll

Agents for travel’s lust, not donor’s trust Practic logic’s proud gust, stirs trade unjust “What we want comes first, ne’er mind what we must” This age, lustrous crust, ‘tis but painted rust!