At this pinnacle of dust
Smiling down, empty, at the rust
The cogs will turn no more
Every move, every moment a chore
Lying there clamoring at fate
All administrations too late
Lost in the maze
Eternally confused by what to crave
In the silent shell
That doubles as hell
The conditions that drew one here
Doubts and disillusionment the mind spears
Are benevolent once the horizon clears
For these clouds of dust
Hide the nothingness they must
So the carousel turns on
Leaving its creatures wanton
For the knife in their gut
Enjoying each pointless rut
Is one truly free
When all thoughts flee?
Pitiful puppets, aren’t we?
Jun 30, 2019
Jun 30, 2019 at 7:07 PM UTC
At this pinnacle of dust
Smiling down, empty, at the rust
The cogs will turn no more
Every move, every moment a chore
Lying there clamoring at fate
All administrations too late
Lost in the maze
Eternally confused by what to crave
In the silent shell
That doubles as hell
The conditions that drew one here
Doubts and disillusionment the mind spears
Are benevolent once the horizon clears
For these clouds of dust
Hide the nothingness they must
So the carousel turns on
Leaving its creatures wanton
For the knife in their gut
Enjoying each pointless rut
Is one truly free
When all thoughts flee?
Pitiful puppets, aren’t we?
