It’s falling, roiling, crashing to the sea.
That sound you hear,
of our old country.
Yesterday she did, but today, she won’t anymore.
And tomorrow, she will never again.
She won’t go back and she won’t again;
there is no resurrection for yesterday.
And for the loss of
all your petty comforts,
your violent pastimes,
She couldn’t care.
Your revisionist nostalgia,
Pride of those like you,
From exposure to the truth.