Born with men moving faster than sound;
all we caught our eyes on sped through town.
Life's a little caffeine addiction, escapism on spaceships.
All we witness ends in explosions without exception.
Where were the pastures, the playful riversides?
Before you there now, clouded by motion sick eyes,
as you kneel on the side of the road
lending your bile and acid to the gravel and grass;
purging your system of all the urban and its chemicals,
letting go of everything you've known for the past few days
as an offering to this place.
Eyes finally come into focus
and fix on factories smoking in the distance,
unleashing the depths of your violence in a scream: Fuck!
Hoping the word would bring the birds falling from the sky.
There is no god. There is no peace. There is no decency.
Take me away. Take this from me. Take me.
The cars racing by show how little the world thinks
of its situation: swirling and indifferent.
Show us a hope. Show us a peace. Show us decency.
They uprooted another site of our youth today
with the bulldozer and busy wrecking ball -
as recognizable now as any site they've fallen.
"More condominiums," they voice, "more aestheticless residence
and elitist posturing is what this place needs."
When what we need are triggers
to ignite what used to make us human,
that speak and bleed our history, both the hits and misses,
and show how time rusts triumphant stabs, and drabs poetic acumen.
But they'll sooner scrape all the rust from our scenes,
shave off the identity down to bones and teeth,
make us look just like the angels, Hollywood, a big shiny apple:
well-polished and palatable.
I'd rather be buried under farmland
in the shadows of abandoned steel mills.
I'd rather see it real.
