She Who Names the Stars

I walk the banks of the stream of electric thought
 For a ford back across
 For here I am scattered, thoughts asunder, in tatters
 No recollection of having crossed
 The stream will always be found among the industrial sound
 This is life in Metachthonia
 But green can always be found among the industrial sound
 There is still life in Metachthonia
 The water runs so deep
 I've seen so many taken by the will of the stream
 But I must cross to the warmth of and the green of where I once was
 The peace of life lived at my own will
 The stream will always be found among the industrial sound
 This is life in Metachthonia
 But green can always be found among the industrial sound
 There is still life in Metachthonia
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 All you, welcome to Metachthonia
 It's like the rustle of leaf to ground against the industrial sound
 All you, welcome to Metachthonia
 It's like the sun on your skin while the diodes draw you in
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 It was verdant and the arching oaks swayed in a whispering wind
 All quiet were the thorning groves, and shining lakes did brim
 Then electric industry arrived, emitting its cold and lifeless light
 Dendritic verdure did subside to oil and fumes and torbanite
 It left and with it nature's realm, and air with cedar scent
 And overhanging streets of elm with flowing branches bent
 Although we see the trees around in this electric age
 Yet nothing of old nature's old ways does seep into our veins
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 And on her arm was flame alive, in ink it lashed the wind
 A binding to primordial times when flame was close as kin
 A binding to time when survival hung on reading
 Stars on luminous galactic ceiling
 Even before the scientific, even before, in life
 We could reach the stars, we knew the stars
 Known in analogue, but known well
 Mapped, we knew them as hag, hunter, stag, and thunder
 A binding to time when survival hung on reading
 Stars on luminous galactic ceiling
 When to reap the bearded grain
 When to hunt the running game
 If the sun should wake again from winter's slumbered plane
 "Do you not take comfort in seeing the same stars as your ancestors?
 If we must take strength from something greater than ourselves
 For all that you hope and all that you are
 Why not revere the sun and stars?"
 Our forebears worshipped the sun
 Our forebears worshipped the stars
 Asteric understanding and far from without
 Life immense in passion and pulse
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 "Look at seven winters past, the changes to the world
 What, in seven winters more, could dare to be revealed?
 So now is pattern visible, and conversation opened
 For us, the treaders on the cusp of now and coming moment
 For in this age the choice is ours when to connect or flee
 But soon's the time when we will learn the meaning of ubiquity"
 "Look at seven winters past, the changes to the world
 What, in seven winters more, could dare to be unfurled?
 Think, Metachthonic, where does it end, the reach of electric nets?
 Look at present, past, and future trend, and what they may beget"
 Having spoke, she looked to the shimmering sky
 She saw our past, present, future, and so did I
 In the shower of ageless light, I understood
 "Astronomer," I began
 But when my eyes fell from the sky, she was gone