We've forgotten who we are.
As men make their own history, still they know they are chained
and bound by all the past traditions of dead generations.
So let's raise this bitter glass to us never getting through.
When I look into your eyes, I can see you see it too.
For I know that you believe in truth.
I try to channel Hughes.
Though you doubt me inconsequentially,
it gives me more to prove.
Was there some hidden grin within your face when we met last winter?
Our past still looms over us as we pretend to be friends.
We exist through history.
Inquiry and knowledge acquired by investigation.
You're like some poor Pharaoh,
(but) no more meek tales of past seasons, for tonight we must make haste.
You are the hunted King, uncrowned.
Cars collide with horses,
like mere stings of Civilisations.
'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.'
to quote George Santayana.
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