jormagund

What are we coming to
No room for me, no fun for you
I think about a world to come
Where the books were found by the Golden Ones
Written in pain, written in awe
By a puzzled man who questioned
What we were here for
All the strangers came today
And it looks as though they're here to stay

Oh, you pretty things
Don't you know you're driving your
Mothers and fathers insane