There is a street, it is said,
that leads down to the halls of dread
where devils toil their burbling cauldrons
of simmering sinners and saints fallen –
and it must seem our modern day
has turned this street an expressway
where drivers race at breakneck speeds
to invent new lusts, rages,
but such is the folly of modern thought –
the slow old dead still prayed – and fought –
and lusted, and amassed, and escaped justice
and in every way were just as us.

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