Feb 13, 2015
Into The Meat Grinder
Red lines,
Hard and straight,
No time to argue,
No time for debate,
And so we go on
Scratching and scrawling,
Predicting our worth
From a magnitude of drawings,
With markings and labels,
Notes and tables,
Slowly filling our heads,
With all but fables.
And so comes the day,
Where we each take our place,
At a given time and a given date
Predicted by some logic fate,
So that we may
Test our sanity
And remaining humanity,
In these tests,
Of clarity.
And we trudge on
Through life
The same, unchanged,
Except for our values,
From which came
Our fame and glory
Or blameful stories,
Each moving to death,
Forever slowly