Turn the clocks forward,
Put time itself to rout,
For these people here
Have it all figured out.
Feel the past dying,
It’s not a day too soon,
For these people here
Are the era’s great boon.
We once looked about us
And saw common ground;
We once thought of failure
Like Ezra Pound —
We once had a habit
Of dreaming slow,
But that was all before
We knew where to go —
See the glass broken,
And watch the token burn,
For these people here
Know the ones to spurn;
Close the door softly,
And do as you are told,
As these people here
Show us paths
Of gold
