Darest I venture outside
On this most profound of days
What is it I will behold
In our cauldron of decay
A roiling mass of anger
A treacherous road of hate
Some bitter accusations
From all of those in that state
The danger that I fear most
Is that of declining fate
A place where all great nations
Are becoming reprobate
When all the chosen people
From their slumber rise too late
And mourn all of the morsels
Being taken from their plate
I hope you hear my sorrow
As I fathom our sad ways
And count the horrid hours
Racing to the end of days