Adrift on the floe,
There is time to think.
Which methods are best.
Methods according to their own kind.
Guardrails are in place we are told,
By those measuring the distance.
Life or death, commodified,
Mistaken for solicitude.
Terminal decline and a foreseeable end.
Conspiring to assist a Nation.
The edge is hard to see,
In the fog of good intentions.
Adrift on the floe,
There is time for reflection.
Others have gone before.
Wer wird die Wachen selbst bewachen?
By W.N. Branson