Awake from slumber, son of Terra.
Pull back the shades and gaze upon the vast, artless oceans,
Where form and faith and fear and folly,
Lay slain by inky nothingness.
Phosphorescent bastards of a benign Aztec god,
Weigh heavy on idle pupils.
Lifeless imitations of a distant Heimat.
Intrepid explorer, cartographer of the stars,
Basking in the glory of silent applause.
How insignificant you seem,
On that sprawling midnight canvas,
How muted your refrain in the sweeping symphony of the void.
Go back to sleep, last-born of Gaia.
For the dawn chorus will never come.
