Bücher von Nathanael Smith

Comfort There's little love to giveAnd much to brood in hateFor the sexes are undoneLost in a bleak caveWith no way outBut why should anyoneLeave the comfort of their cellsWhen you have everythingThat you need right at your fingertipsFor what does it profit a manTo gain his soul, but lose the world?

What is manBut a machineBorn to serveOur regime,A fixed quotaTo be doggedAnd taggedWatch like a hawkJust to complyOr dieBy our demandsTo the rightsOf your lands,We did notBribe the worldIn bulkJust to let it slipFrom our handsThe worldIs oursAnd we willRule itWith an iron fist!!!