comfyquiet

The Machine is meddlesome Tugging at the heartstrings of masses Through illusory promises of glory and grandeur. And they sway, These victims of gravity.

And they fall. Everyone falls, why wouldn’t they? The Machine’s orchestra weaves a mesmerising tune And I just wish they’d stop dancing, To look at what remains behind.

The few that are often forgotten. Unwanted specks in a carpet full of dust The whimper in a rowdy crowd Because they wouldn’t or couldn’t Accept the Machine’s construct.

Such is the consequence When the journey’s reward Matters more than the trek ever could. Values are vanity, Living is swimming upstream And the rest can drown.

I refuse to play a part in the Machine’s theatre. I’d like to believe, We can live by our own trinkets and devices But my weary eyes have seen enough to know better. All I want is to howl at the daylight’s moon And sleep with a smile on my face.