Reflective Wanderer

A brick in the wall, and a rolling stone
 These are the consequences 
Of modernity; we’ve reaped what we’ve sown.
 Is Sisyphus happy? You tell me.
No home, and no god, no traditions.
 All Lost in Translation, not free,
For living alone in Babel brings death.
 So sing us a song, you’re the piano man,
For young Jack and sweet Jill are out of breath,
 Before they can reach the old hill.
We’ll sing of lost Atlantis, her streets, mourn.
 We’ll dance to the piper’s low trill,
And all of the while we hide in a smile 
 The fact that our god never sees us. 
What can wash away my sin? Nothing,
 Without the blood of Jesus.
The death of divinity can’t be cleaned
 Off the hands that have killed him.
All men are seeking the newest messiah. 
 We see through the glass which is darkly dim
And try to find our way back to God. 
 Not to be is the new being,
The forms of Plato, transcendent and good
 Are dead; being eclipsed by becoming.
Protagoras, the only philosopher 
 And man is alone the measure, 
And the clever are questioning, “which man?”
 Go back to old Odin for pleasure
And worship again at the temple of Thor,
 For once we all sang in union,
All knowing the sun had set on the shore,
“Bye, bye miss American pie,” nothing left
Could salvage the coming wreck; not by bread
 Alone we can live, and the Logos is lost.