The rotting thread
spun throughout this "time"
without a reason, without a rhyme
this story flying on silver wings
hiding corrupted flesh with golden rings-
this is the autumn of our time.
isn't it strange? the human race?
race-an unanswered question, a dash to death?
this is a time where
souls can be bought and a husk needs no mind
blood is a commodity, the gold standard of this necrotic economy
built out of parts and bodies
and you're a world-class oddity if you dare
be anything but plastic and silicone.
you've heard this before
and you'll hear it again
so start listening now, before this sybil's signs go silent.