(no subject)

[fledgist]

we automate the process it entails
getting the men there swiftly as we can
they're expedited on the well-laid rails
each of them expecting to be in the van
they bump along in lorries or in carts
at sixty miles per hour the meeting's quick
we praise then damn the dark mechanic arts
that promised so much but were all a trick
the youths are eager they hope for quick fame
a bit of glory a tale for round the fire
easier access to the arms of a dame
their names sent down the telegraphic wire
reality is that each hits a wall of lead
and glory doesn't matter when you're dead