A cold lonely dark tunnel br leads slowly, climbs upwards br The beings inside br known only by numbers br br The procession prods forward br on knees and hands br So many people br none called a man br br Eyes locked on the glimmer br to set their course right br And when the tunnel gives way br they are blinded by light br br Then comes a triumph br a party, a ball br They see what they once were br through cracks in the wall br br They look down with pity br they know they have made it br Hushed fear of the future br though no one will say it br br For none can stay br at a party forever br Each departs br but the party ends never br br The eye in the sky br sheds a tear for them all br But mostly the grown man br so proud and so small br br For its those at the top br who have nothing to gain br Who must submit to the cycle br or struggle in vainbr br David N Butlerbr br