The Old-Timer’s Lament

O, they pass away, the old ways;
O, the old ways pass away.
I remember the first rock
That was tied to a shaven stick.
That was the end of handfighting;
All the handfighters were brained
By stick-tied rocks with no regard
For training, strength, or skill;
O, they pass away, the old ways,
O, the old ways pass away.

After that the rock-men ruled
Till someone invented bronze,
And bronze was light, and hunger-sharp,
And cut the stone men down.
Bronze was it for a while, till iron came along;
Then some fool invented writing,
And all the stories died.

I remember we used to gather
Breathless around a fire
And listen to the tale-teller
Give us our ancestors' lives.
Now everyone reads a different book,
Men's voices are gone faint,
And no one remembers anything;
Our thoughts are paper-slaves.
O, they pass away, the old ways,
O, the old ways pass away.

After that, things happened quickly:
Great knights and greater navies,
And the conquest of the world.
The spoils went to the merchants,
Who never raised a sword,
And merchants made the black machines
That swallowed honest work.
Now machines do even the thinking,
While men stand idle by,
Gone pale and going paler,
Too entertained to care.
When the stone was tied to the handle,
It was all over that day;
O, they pass away, the old ways;
O, the old ways pass away.