Sticks and stones led to clubs, clubs led to spears, spears led to bows, bows led to gunpowder, and gunpowder led to the Manhattan Project. And so it goes. At every step the carnage grew. At every step man comes closer to returning to sticks and stones.


Chivalry is dead, the embattled man cried

Leaning heavy against his stout horse

Dead and buried beneath the sharp incoming tide

Dead beneath the foul uncaring gorse!

He paused to take breath then resumed his sad tale

Edged weapons are things of the past

A man is now had for a two penny sale

And good chaps like I cannot last

I’ve killed men in battle but never in spite

‘Twas always but simply our way

To fight true and fair is the code of the knight

To think I should see such a day

As seen on this ground, a changed thing to amaze

And good men lay dead where they stand

As unseen projectiles are now the new craze

With men like I swept from the land

He sobbed in despair as he saw in his pain

A future where noblemen died

At the hands of the rabble both dirty and plain

Then he hefted his sword and he sighed

‘Tis over, my friend, in a world that’s gone daft

With everything worthy laid low

While I who spent years in perfecting my craft

Am slain by a man with a bow


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