Who are these coming to what sacrifice?
To what porcelain altar, orange stained
By clockwork rivulets, the silt on ice
Of a million Lethes
A million brains drained?
Your hard pipes play on, cold urinal.
When old age shall this pisser waste,
Thou shalt remain amidst other woe than his,
A friend to man, to whom thou sayest,
"Your turn is truth, truth your turn.
That is all ye know on earth
And all ye need to know."

Based on "Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats