In the canyons of the city, where the traffic winds its way, I had wandered for a lifetime, so it seemed, that autumn day. And the frenzy of the city, where the workers run and toil – It had entered in my being, it had rooted in my soil.
I was born of man and woman, but had grown to something else. For the god who reigned was Mammon, who is lord of human hells. And all that is of Nature – of water, earth and air, Was routed, extirpated – what remained was my despair.
For so it is with workers, who must labor in the mills, Where our demons are our masters, so our virtues there are ills. Not the cycle of the seasons, not the surging of the tides, But the pulsing of the street-lights is the rhythm that resides.
In the canyons of the city, in the factories of hell, I had turned into a zombie, as I then could clearly tell. As the winds of fall were blowing, as the rivers flowed to sea, I was standing at the crosswalk, and I knew I’d ceased to be.