Orwellian Future -

The serpent like a river moves among them

And mingled as it coiled upon each eye

Yet out there in the depths nothing is modified

And not every voice of mourning will save the choirs

Or lifting altars with silent answers pressed upon the stars

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Not one will know of the war

Not one will care at last when its done

Dead at their words, do they understand?

Their frail deeds rage against a dying light

Could I raise the veil that hides our future?

Symbols of ancient songs mournfully passing

And not every voice of mourning will save the choirs

Or lifting altars with silent answers crept upon the stars

What candles may be held to speed them all?

Half sunk a shattered visage lies

Here our days pass under shade