Listen to the music of centuries,
Rising above the mushroom time.
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder
I think that if my tongue alone could talk
it won’t be enough to stop this evil
We are living in a time where love is painful than hate
Good was dethroned,
and evil was enthroned
The sceptre is in the wrong hands
And now good is evil
And evil is good.
Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace
Disperse the rays on every vulgar spirit,
Whilst in darkness, in the self-same place,
Get not one glance to recompense my merit?
So doth the plowman gaze the wandering star,
And only rest contented with the light,
That never learned what constellations are
Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight.
How many paltry, foolish, painted things,
That now causes trouble in every street,
Shall be forgotten, whom no Poet sings,
Ere they be well wrapt in their winding-sheet
But nothing good remaineth of these days.