22
Feathers, all it’s seen.
Caos constantly changing
as the way it should be.
Uproar, all it’s heard.
Barbarism in unison
sings the tune of the factory.
Blindness be materialized
when the first sunshine happen.
Dazzle glare, all it’s seen.
Empty minds but filled stomachs
by the force of a hot deal.
How can you tell apart
from something you’ve never seen before?
There is no way to make
a difference between
the past and the present
but the first and only time
that sun will burn your eyes
before you die.
