The Curse of Progress

Far away from here theres a place,
cool and quiet, peaceful and serene,
not yet corrupted by our mean pleasures and selfish desires,
its lays still in itself like the melody in a nightangle's song.

Like the sturdy cemetary gates and
the ruthful dream of our ancestor's world,
like the star that shines alone on a rainy night,
it is aloof from the world and its perversions.

Why don't we live in the wilderness,
 the humming of the morning bird is soft and gentle,
like the soft-spoken words of a mother's lullaby and
the soft breeze coming from the mountains which stand strong and high.

"We decided to reside on this plagued land", they say,
"where engines blow out a dark mist of poison air,
where monsters of steel roam free to terrorise
the lil' baby which sleeps calmly in the cradle."

I am sick of this stench which fills the air,
I was told it was a sunny day,
"Oh no, we see no more of those warm and friendly faces,
don't you know about the industrial revolution?"