When we found the last statue we
Very nearly pitied it, for
The visage with which of old he
Grimaced upon men was no more.

Acid dew had claimed his face, no
Pigeon or gull did spare him shame;
Untitled, unknown, his plaque so
Weathered and worn it bore no name.

But all pity was consumed by gods
Of blood who breathe fire and clamor
To recall that we are at odds,
At war, with Height. Armed with hammer

And chisel, that we may chain, bind,
And throttle Heaven till it know
That if we e’er again should find
Splendor, pomp, loftiness, or show

We’ll trample honor’s arrogance,
Leveling monuments until
No sovereignty save goddess Chance
May interfere with man’s wild will.

Havoc! the swarm ascending cries
Up the pedestal with feral
Baying while something noble dies,
Frowning granite caught in peril

Inescapable. Mossy stone
O’erturned and overthrown by men
Who can rubble and dust alone
Endure in sight to stand and then

The cord now severed, freedom found,
There here remains not one who can
Remember e’er not being bound
To worship that great idol, man.