Few can see it comingBut oh yes it will comeLike a rising ball of magmaAs hot as the burning sunThrough the rock it is pushingBuilding, rising every dayMaybe you cannot see itMaybe you hope it will go awayBut oh yes it is comingSee the fissures in the landBoiling clefts of dissentTalk of which is bannedWhispers, quiet whispersHush now, the powers come“Stop the wicked words,” they say“Back to your mental slum.”But the sear...