The path we once dread
is the one we now tread.
Our conscience is dead
and thick darkness spreads.
We who were once chaste
fell so cheaply in a haste.
We said, “It was just a taste”
yet we lie in quantum waste.
We wanted sloshing feasts
and we became cursing beasts.
We are now the losing least,
running from the west to the east.
Our trademark is ‘borrow’
and our emblem is ‘sorrow’.
But we hope for tomorrow
like an evening nesting sparrow.
Our wounds drain with pus
be we’ve lost our voice.
What has become of us
is a matter of our choice.