Suburban houses line the street
But street lights won't let you see in
The lawns are barren, graveyards of gray,
the windows awash in filth and sin
Pick the lock and step inside,
Your feet clearing inches of dust
Peer through the gloom of spiders' webs,
Breathe air of deceit and mistrust
The robots sit in stupor, entranced
Mouths shut with billfold gags
Tv static soils the silence
And the clock stills as time lags
Turn and stumble back through the dark
There's nothing to do but look ahead
You can't save the sheep from slaughter,
You're too late, they're already dead
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem