~
*It feels like the anesthetic is wearing off
This circus of machines
From coin-operated hostility
To wholesale apathy refineries
They tell us it's winter down in the subdermal
They tell us the foundation has grown weak
Dislocation is an incoming storm
Mirrors are distorted screens
Placeholders really
In a city without children
Even the statues weep
Snow upon the ground that was once blood
Now an empire without heirs
Even the trees hate us*
~
Apr 15, 2024
Apr 15, 2024 at 10:44 AM UTC
~
*It feels like the anesthetic is wearing off
This circus of machines
From coin-operated hostility
To wholesale apathy refineries
They tell us it's winter down in the subdermal
They tell us the foundation has grown weak
Dislocation is an incoming storm
Mirrors are distorted screens
Placeholders really
In a city without children
Even the statues weep
Snow upon the ground that was once blood
Now an empire without heirs
Even the trees hate us*
~
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