God's Most Lordly Gift To Man Is

Truth Is Always The First Casualty Of War.

Against Necessity, Against Its Strength, No One Can Fight And Win.

The Moving Light, Rejoicing In Its Strength, Sped From The Pyre Of Pine, And Urged Its Way, In Golden Glory, Like Some Strange New Sun.

Old Men Are Children Once Again A Dream That Sways And Wavers Into The Hard Light Of Day.

Everyone's Quick To Blame The Alien.