The rain stopped
And I was falling again
falling through the steam coming up from the machinery, industry hum of society below
And on every box and brick Chinese characters were scrawled on the bottom
Down in hell we cast the iron with burning pick axes. I saw a coil wrapped tight around the serpent's head, then the whistle blew, a roll of the dice and I fell even further
spiraling down a tapestry of skylines and streets
I was feeling my brain burn in this box
no where to sit I ride that's the ride we take to work
Its a minor triumph to find a space along the wall and go deaf from the wind slapping the sides
No one needs their senses anyway as we peer thirstily into 4 inch screens
sucking up the lithium through what is left of our sight
The sun falls too the light pink and blue along the rooftops. But our gaze is only a few feet ahead of us if even that. We wait for the traffic light then taunt the cars with our march towards the places we pop out timesheets and policies. Sip on a cup of coffee and listen to the CEO and other important people plan my future on a dartboard
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