Marching Machine

The finger, the blame
the point is the same
information withheld
can only defame

the water, the world
the never will never
leave us holding our breath
or ask us to sever

the hero, the deed
the marching machine
turn people to numbers
and protect the unseen

the waking, the lifted
the plans to betray
for one minute and one year
have been on display

the music, the truth
the need for this note
to build a new destruction
or just keep us afloat

and still...

the worried, the lost
the worst of our wasted
while stripped of it all
have held to their graces

and the hope, the haunted
the stars, if they're turning
although they have fallen
are somehow still burning

but the purpose...
the reason...
the fuel for the machine
is lost in pages
blown like wages
buried deep and forever
under the skin of us all