To past points of painful prior,
To a priory of defeated cogs,
Laid amongst the chemical bog.
Below the commercial clouds

Lies saying’s,

Glittering adage,
And gilded bondage.
Stir the lye blinded poor,
Choked with industrial ichor,
And twisted dreams,
who languish in the air.
They stamp their feet,
To a spurring beat.
The lash of the driver
Grins as a poisonous leech.
Work on, honest dredge.

For rest is neigh,
Just a little more time
Past the livings rent.

‘till your soul rasps,
With the awe of the task,
Past the looking glass.