No More

We had no more forests, so we built our cities out of stone and iron. We had no more wars, so instead of walls we set mazes. And in time, we could no more remember the others of us.

We had no more dreams, so we invented them out of dance and song. We had no more day, so instead of wood we burned coal. And in time, we could no more remember the stars.

We had no more children, so we shaped them out of clay and dust. We had no more gods, so we told our children that we were them. And in time, we could no more remember the truth.