You don’t need a sword
To cut and kill civilization
It only requires a connected device

And an age that prefers
Passion to truth
Affiliation to family

Our interpersonal problems we can resolve
With a little understanding
But woe the assault

That rides not in
Onboard ship or chariot grim
The ever-burgeoning abstract machine

That accumulates so gradually
Assembling out of sight
Under our beds

The impersonal system
Vast invisible
That gathers and pervades

And the harmful habit for hierarchy
Necessary perhaps to nurse the young
But gross dependency in free adults

And images arise on our screens
And we listen to the windbags depicted there
And put each other down

And we ourselves commit acts of violence
Turning weapons inward and out
Just following orders

The discontent of those
Who choose compliance
Over courtesy which requires thought

An old rock band played the blues
And Billy Preston added
A perfect organ solo