Sustenance - 2011/04/04

Cog in the machine is ever turning
A petty part of an inane mechanism
Every operator sleeps at the wheel
Fully unaware of the actual schism
It hungers for the stuff of dreams
Consuming without a care or regard
Delicate trash is its final result
Leaving the awake angry and jarred

Sailor on a ship without a captain
How do you know where to find port
This rabble is operating all alone
As turning the wheel is just sport
Sailing headlong towards sure hell
Do not assume the craft shall turn
While overt apathetic listlessness
Guarantees the old ship shall burn

In the sky above there is the moon
Illuminating dark shapes wandering
Soon to be replaced by the new sun
To put an end to great squandering
Unless the mantel is never claimed
In which case progress surely ends
While thralls consume silly dreams
Upon which a decent future depends

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