The Wonderful Mechanical Man


Watch kind sir, as the wondrous machine
A most amazing mechanical man,
Doth stomp here and there in a cold rage
With eyes that do flash and teeth that do gnash
Grind small children to dust and decay.
Nary a dream that doth pass by his great maw,
'Tis not morsel to the political
Tyrannical machine of education.

Imagination is the crime of the
Century, and in fact the currency of
The land. Watch again kind sir, closely.
Each child that doth emerge from the ash,
And riseth as a phoenix from the flame,
Is born again as a mechanical man,
Fact is his life, fancy his folly.
Was Hard Times not warning enough you fools?

Art become a paltry mimicry of
Shades and shapes with harshness in her lines?
Oh that the Muses see not the fall
Of men and their hubris, which rivals the gods.
Gone is the artist and the stroke of his brush,
Gone is the poet and his silver tongue,
Welcome to the age of the machine,
Welcome to our final hour, and good-bye.

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