Cry For Help

We waddle crowded streets ambling towards the shackles which bind us to our
future. We stroke the keys that send hammers crashing down upon our strings
which make us dance for fear of change. While lofty twits who sit in spite of
spacious cells do crosswords full of blood and sell our time to make the flowers bloom and rooms for us to sit and spin our yarns of freedom for the kids of all the things we never did with shiny times we’ll never know in places that we’ll never go. While whiling softly all the time away for fear of yesterday let’s drink, let’s drink forever stay in cells that never seem to stay the same for change is on the tube with shiny Technicolor attitudes of singing dopes and scopes of promise unforeseen since Cagney shimmered on the screen.  Evolved to dissuade evolution, sponsored by devolution, we doom ourselves to drag our feet across the floors of concrete cages pacing back and forth in stages victors and victims in our own circus ‘til the wasting finally cures us on the day we curl and finally die in corners of our sties and are disposed of by our keeper’s creeping silent costly sneakers. Man has grown old and senile. Rotting in our haze of progress splitting lies and heirs in process growing far too weak to handle even handing over candles capable of showing news of all the things that we once knew.