Automation

I’m your animatronic mouse
With the trap poised
To step on my neck
And make a mess of the maze
I can’t project my vision with your iron rule
A beast that buzzes with every surging step
We’re not art, we’re automation
In Italy, when the butler walks up the stage he arranges chairs
Steps back, admires, and changes the arrangement
The bourgeois light cigars, and bend down to light cigarettes
In the rubble, for the beggars, the drowsy powerless
The more we build, the more we become
The more we’re burdened, the more we break… down
Holy shifting city, time to look closer
At the smoggy skyline, sped bullets, and bustling death