Individualism
The cars are rushing here and there;
they never stop their hurried flight.
No wind is blowing through the hair;
the boxes are all locked up tight.
They always speed, through day and night,
and never catch their breath or pause,
and barely even keep the laws.
They do not talk, but radio
will ward off things that boredom cause
while car past car must swiftly go.
O Prince, the beasts with iron maws
are deaf to plaint and to applause;
they do not wish or want or know;
there is no love, and nothing awes
while car past car must swiftly go.
