Progress is a never-ending line of cars
Stretching down a super highway.
Progress is an empty home-
Mom and Dad in separate cars
Seeking scattered kids,
Who will separate, every one,
When all are in the house.
Progress is a yard of grass and shrub
Which bear no fruit, while the fact’ry farm
Abounds in monstrous weeds and bugs.
Progress is the joy of being a drone
In the high-tech hive of soul-mangling corporations.
Progress is the magic skill of mass production-
The victory of boring uniformity.
Progress is the privilege of becoming
An unwitting sacrifice to satanic powers
Through the working of Western social theory,
And the money masters and amusement makers.
Progress is a megachurch
Filled with shoppers eager for the latest fare
From focus-group Christianity.
Progress is a gnawing worm feeding on our guts and souls.