The rhythm of the city
An emotionless machine
Manufactured in reality
Shining but unclean
Built on sand and fantasy
Mirror of mirage
Reflected by the silver screen
Of chrome in the garage
Vision blocked by concrete
Callused hearts encased
Deafened by the drum beat
Tongues too seared to taste
Masked by thrum of engines
And the chatter of the screen
The still small voice is buried
The footpath isn't seen
Images and idols
Technologically divised
Words of cotton candy
That dissolve before your eyes
Intellect and science
Worshipped by decree
Giving credit to illusion
So the chained believe they're free
Fundamental skeletons
In self appointed roles
Clothed in robes of office
But carnivorous of souls
Speaking words that come from knowledge
But do not come from light
Letter lacking spirit
Adding darkness to the night
-
Don Francisco
-
Don Francisco
No comments:
Post a Comment