The Hum of the Cable

When they come in the night with their lamps burning bright To bear all the Gypsies away The cries burrow deep to the depths of my sleep Of the roots being wrenched from the clay However much I care, it's cold out there In the darkness I turn away! When they cross all the fields with the sun on their shields The Baptists are easy to find At the point of a gun they force them to run And they leave not a one left behind But the sun is bright, and at its height In its lightness I am blind! When they scour the lanes and find the remains Of the writers who peddle ideas With little to seize, the presses can squeeze The word and the word disappears But I cannot decipher what Is but, he blot, my dears! Out late on the street I hear on its beat The growl of a Doberman dog The red of its eyes destroys my disguise As slowly it searches the smog But with a howl, it finds its prey The blind, the sleepy turn away They cast adrift this useless cog As the hum of the cable comes down through the fog!