As day follows day
Inexarably the century ebbs away.
It has already reached seventeen.
Things not yet seen
Glimmer in a dream
Or a nightmare
The mad Hatter and March Hare
Offer to answer Alice’s every prayer.
On the edge of wonderland
The Hatter and the Hare
Who sit at a table
Offering tea which they are unable
For this thing called progress is a wapping lie.