Too great a capacity for joy
In a world lacking occasion to deploy
Depraved human beings without a purpose to employ
It’s Atlas’ decision to drop and destroy
And the ceaseless criminal provocation
Which builds massive internal motivation
To blast ideas of indoctrination
That have been carefully concealed from contemplation
Upon discovering a case of comfortable vulnerability
And blanketed within a temporary immobility
While salvaging fragments of scattered sanity
Yet satisfied only by the savoring of sweet serenity
That those oafishly ordaining ominous orders
And demanding foolish followers
Yet lacking intelligent executors
Will surely squander all solicitous soldiers
Being that words permeate only so deep
As it is action that the times will keep
Vaulting upon the mountain so steep
The moochers grasp will inevitably fall to sleep
Along with the unsolicited opinions of the blind
And destitute decisions improperly aligned
With paralyzing precision promptly opined
Their repugnant rejection of the masterful mind
For when the motor of the world refrains from chugging
With the torches to the sky no longer burning
And the men of the world have stopped thinking
One ideal will remain still worthy of dreaming