His tribe, progress slow
The damp shaded forest, a shelter
Fired warmth limited, instead shivers managed under wooded bundles
They operate the moist darkness content that morning has come once more
Never forwarding beyond despair, never breeding knowledge.

An ordinary voice rings the horizon, catching latent attention
Fatigued, shivering, capacity for innovation challenged, eyes open with desire
Standing at the forest boundary, souls trusting submit
Alien possibility resonate with the cadence of the approaching machine
Hardened angst obfuscating reality, the loudest voice is heard.

Sequestered fears resolve into hope by the believers
A daily march begins toward fulfilled promise
Bias, righteousness typically necessary by each convert
While the displaced carry on numbly
Harshest is the reality that truth and equity are not goals.