Oh! New Year! Ring out the old, ring in the new. And it is so easy to do so, This stale ritual of ringing new. The dead year with its world of woe Did burst its heart sans a tear, From our race refusing to grow. Rooted in primitive mire Still we boast of our 'moral sense' That has spawned impulses brutish. But brutes sober with robust sense. Are no predators devilish In glory of gregarious weal, In harmony with their soil, They aptly provide a foil To our race whose itch for soil Seeks a ploy in lebensraum In expansionist hunger. And still we boast ad nauseam Of our moral sense but render It void of all content. Our savagery puts to shade That of vandals of ancient Era making its nuclear grade To perfect annihilation. And oil and arms trade ties up Nations in mutual fascination. Gun running then knows no hiccup Still we brag of our moral sense. Ring out the old, ring in the new Horror of our civilised age, The rape of amoral Nature anew By the Industrial savage Tribes of old in holy fear, In pantheistic reverence Bowed humbly to listen to the whir Of Mother Nature's resonance. We have torched her virgin body To toxic ends of agony. Seas, space, rivers and woody Realms pulse no more hale and balmy, Touching a fatal recoiL A nemesis for our crime That turned noisome our sacred soil, Gifting with ills our clayey frane - Ah! A race with a moral sense! In the living lab of Nature, Nothing sure ever goes awry. Our scientific mind in fracture, Its intuitive ethics buries, To harness nature for our weal, We must know her benign ethos. Should neither molest her, nor steal Her plums to leave her in pathos 'And to be in tune with Nature' Should then paraphrase our rapport With her, a fine parameter Within bounds for mutual support. Else, the year will ring in Her last laugh at our caving in.