Inconceivable it is that somewhere on earth a land exists   untouched by civilization's hand. Try as we might to peer   through the folds of the death grip. The overwhelming   human tide surging forward smothering everything that   our twisted minds cannot justify as worthy enough   to take a place in this lie we call progress.      Scourge! Scourge! Scourge! Scourge!      Unwilling to let in the sun unable to escape what's been   done and our towers built like open wounds on the land   that as each day passes begins to more and more resemble   a vision of hell I had as a child and the droning sounds   of progress begin to resemble more and more   the coming of an endless locust swarm.