980986.jpg
(207.3KB, 1200x1763) Behold! Fafnir!
Tis the dragon! The unslain!
Tis King of Kings!
Came to blind and bind
Old, aged Wealth again!
He who stole the
Golden hearts of men
When claimed and tempered
all the fires of our
Vulcan industries into
his wretched chains
of wage-slavery!
Upon the earth where
I dwell, this dragon of kings
has brought me to his gold-house
and all his rooms are fire!
There he sips the
corruption in the
human hollow,
drinks the day-strength
from bent-backed men,
and fattens his flame
on the hours of women.
Then comes the law-skald,
tongue bright with silver,
singing the chain
sacred and needful:
“Feed well the wyrm!
Work is your worth!
Gold is the measure
of good men’s days!”
So comes the law-skald
with his lute and flute and drum,
praising his master as merit:
"Work is what you are,
as you’re breathing
in and out.
'Til your final breath
falls to the floor.
Get up off the ground,
You can lay down
when the day is done;
And on the seventh day
You can lay in the morning sun."
So they bear Fafnir bread,
bone, blood, and morning,
heap hour upon hour
beneath his claws,
while Fafnir sleeps
on fortunes unmoving
and calls our hunger
the order of things.
But I have heard
another song:
No dragon grows noble
because bards may praise him.
No chain turns holy
because fathers wore it.
No furnace loves you
because it gives wages.
Let the wyrm hunger!
