We're all pirouetting awkwardly
toward some hope
and joy
So shall we all take comfort
in the fact we
share this toil?

Our lights will die for having shone
and we decide
how truly
New dawns await for everyone
and sometimes you
can choose them

And should dawn find an empty street;
rain-slicked it
is still better
than endless nights for countless
souls held fast there
by the thresher

These cold machines who won't accept
the impacts of
their doings
would want to hear the plaintive cries
of weak wills
they are chewing
To prove that they are predators
in their world of
killed or killer
Men shouldn't kill the things they love
that's fatuous
and silly

Lets leave these cold dead things behind
and stagger on
towards
a unity which means something
with songs instead
of swords.