Oh, gather ye round and hearken well,
To the tale of the future the wise men tell.
The chariots roar without fire or steam,
For lo! We are saved by the Electric Dream!
No soot shall stain, no smoke shall rise,
And Heaven itself shall applaud our guise.
The merchants cheer and the rulers grin,
For the age of oil is a dreadful sin.
And the common man, with his heart of lead,
Must drive as he's told or be left for dead.
For progress comes as a creeping tide,
And none may stand where the waves decide.
Yet, a man may toil and a man may save,
To buy him a steed both sleek and brave.
But heed ye well, for the jest runs deep,
And the price of folly is never cheap.
The spark-fed beast, with its silent tread,
Shall lose its worth ere a year be sped.
The makers forge, and the rulers scheme,
And the new-born steeds make the old obscene.
For what was bright is now but rust,
And the man who bought is the man who must.
The cells grow weak, and the range runs short,
And a used-up beast is a thing to thwart.
Lo, the charger waits by the garden gate,
And the man must bow if the beast will sate.
For the road is wide and the journey long,
But not if ye wish to be swift and strong.
The charger drinks, but it drinks so slow,
And the clock runs fast where the weary go.
A man may wait in the midnight rain,
Or pay dear coin for the charger’s chain.
For the masters toll where the weak must pay,
And the rich men smile at the fools who stay.
A mile means naught if the well runs dry,
And the iron steed is a mule to die.
So, tread with care where the fire sleeps,
For the wrath of the coil is a thing that keeps.
A whisper soft in the dead of night,
Then the beast is aflame in its harness tight.
Water may fall and the foam may rise,
Yet still it burns ‘neath the blackened skies.
A man may build and a man may plan,
But the wrath of the coil is not of man.
And the hand that would fashion a safer way,
Finds laws grow thick in their slow decay.
So watch ye well when the charger wakes,
For the fire is patient, and seldom breaks.
Bow, ye wretches, the wise men say,
For the world is doomed if ye go astray!
No longer shall petrol defile the air,
Nor the engines growl in the streets laid bare!
Take up the yoke and the burden wide,
For the Green Man comes with his laws beside!
The merchant laughs, and the rulers scheme,
And the cost of virtue is more than it seems.
For the road must serve both the great and small,
But the great ride high while the meek must crawl.
And woe to the man with a heart of doubt,
For the hand of the law shall find him out.
Yet, the world is a wheel, and the ages turn,
And the fools will buy what the wise men spurn.
Choose ye the steed that best will run,
For the race is not through till the course is done.
And the promise bright of the coming years,
May yet run cold ‘neath the weight of fears.
So ride ye well, but ride ye wise,
And trust not wholly the merchant’s cries.
For the past oft gleams in the age of dust,
And the iron’s worth is the price of trust.
And the roads shall tell, as the years unfold,
If the iron’s worth is the price of gold.
(By John Shenton)