In such a present where every day stings,
where truths are seraphim on golden wings,
where one must suffer by another's hand
and we lose what we gained conscript from the land;
Where the people who turmoil, the strong and the meek,
can never agree, though the same things they seek;
Where promises are quite often recalled
(though in truth, friend and foe mean nothing at all);
It is these things - and more! - which we wish to repair,
and yet we just sit, decrepit, in despair.
So tell me now, friend, speak bold! speak true!
What sort of future have I to look to?