My friend, do you detect the sound of the Modern?
Rumbling and shaking?
Its prophets come
To extol it.

Truly there is no hearing left intact
In the raging tumult,
But still the realm of machines
Would have our pledge.

Behold the Machine:
As it revolves upon itself, avenges itself,
And maims and enfeebles us.

But as it also draws strength from us,
Let us, passionless,
Make it our pursuit, our service.