We've forgotten who we are as men
make their own history, still they know
they are chained and bound by all the past
traditions of dead generations.

So let's raise this bitter glass to us never getting through.
When I look into your eyes, I can see you see it too.
For I know that you believe in truth I try to channel Hughes.
Though you doubt me inconsequentially it gives me more to prove.

Was there some hidden grin within your face when we met last win-
ter? Our past still looms over us as we pretend to be friends. We
exist through history, inquiry and knowledge acquired by
investigation. You're like some poor Pharaoh, (but) no more meek tales of past
seasons, for tonight we must make haste. You are the hunted King, un-
crowned. Cars collide with horses, like mere stings of Civilisations.
'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.'
to quote George Santayana.