When echoes from the clock’s tock hastened slowly
Without a corresponding tick in the chambers of memory,
Making an aural appeal of melancholy
And imprints on the sands of time sing of recovery
Calling for a voluntarily conspicuous glimpse,
That’s when we stood on the sanctimonious overpass
With a hypocritical aberration on institutional collapse.
Refusing to mention our created crass.
The truth was far fetched: mouths spoke truths
Instead of speaking reasonable golden silence;
The heart knew nothing about these truths.
Truths spoken in in the absence of conscience.
And we said: “We have found a new world!”
And that’s a peacekeeping lie we always held.
Go tell the children of grandchildren yet unborn:
“We have built a sun,”
When we are gone,
And that the sun was once a gun!
We have made the largest light.
Wishing on four leaf clovers: we have made a sun.
And that’s the truth.
The four leaf distin tin.
