The day that we were born, the long defeat began;
we lost our first and greatest battle; all the time
since that first loss we've fought, each man against each man,
e'er sinking further into mud and filth and grime,
e'er failing, wasting all our precious, fleeting span,
e'er shunning good and falling further into crime,
e'er earning our damnation, gleef'lly as we can,
e'er clinging to our filth as to a love sublime.
We have but one great hope, but e'er we turn away,
and e'er our best are rearguards; e'en our victories
are merely temporary, only short delay
in our great, long defeat which hist'ry guarantees.
We cannot win ourselves; we are but dust to dust;
we must just fight the long defeat in love and trust.
