Progress is a mythnIf not for he who suffered and gave himself away nAt the hands of fools and lesser mennFalse idols and kingsnWho came to rule through circumstancenWork him like a dognWith a ball and chain and thanklessnessnnThe dice have been castnNo turning back nEyes on the ground nWhere he will dienFeet nailed to the floornReason to benShoulder to the PlownnFacing down the windnHe'll see the way they'll never changenWatch his slow decaynAs bottles drain and days go bynForging his demisenThrough poison vice to sap the mindnIron was a willnNow passions wane and spirits diennThe weight on his chestnAches in his fleshnDreams of a day that never comesnAx pressed to the wheelnBones ground to dustnShoulder to the PlownnGround down into dust for a taste of their good life nLeft their screams, left their souls behindnnWork him deadnLet him rot