100 Years

On the last pneumatic encounter

100 years before you in time

Who’d have thought that we would go further?

Phonographs, machines that can fly

Found the world eclipsed by a fever

Cutting down the young in their prime

How it shudders from its expanding

How it trembles, lungs on the line

How convulsive, gasps of the modern…

Reaching out to grasp hands with mine

On our last pneumatic encounter

Men in metal fly through the sky

Find the world eclipsed by a fever

Striking masses down in their prime

How it trembles while it’s unwinding

How it shudders, lungs on the line