Since we still had a little
Of the rusk left, what fools
To eat, against the rules,
The Sun's slow-moving cattle,

Each ox huge as a tank — 
A wall you'd have to siege
For forty years to reach
A star, a hero's rank.

We starved on the back of the earth,
But when we'd stuffed ourselves,
We tumbled to these delves,
Numbskulls, fed up with dearth.