In the Land of Nod the fog rolls in A moon slice of surgical precision It streaks across a tortured sky Days and weeks unfathomed cloud Rolling in and bearing down Crashing down and tumbling tumbling Pinnacle of stone Several all alone Needles probing sea of mist Swirl of ghost embrace and kiss The jutting columns Countryside Tower islands miles wide Solitary in the gray Lives that toil their lives away As overhead the airships hover Silent running over air No one knows what lives out there The wheels of progress grind and spin Crushing bones our loss their win Breaking backs and pressing onward The spirit of progress pushing downward