Metal slave-soldiers of a darkened soul

We were
machines set to kill by number,

Wiping out
populations of nations with one emotional train-wreck,

Then walking away, shield looking unscathed,

So that later we collapse onto the flagstones,

And weep like open wounds,

“Hold your head up, movin’ on,”

Like that old song, Sweet Dreams,

That fuels our nightmares,

Always bitterly singing the same old songs,

The sound of them as familiar to us,

As the pounding of our drugged and mechanical heartbeats,

Against our metal chest-bones,

Nobody else can hear the thrashing of drums,

Inside of our bruised and bleeding skulls,

The riot of emotion in our soulless beings,

Carry on killing until we run down like batteries,

And hurl ourselves over the cliffs like lemmings,

I don’t even pray to be saved anymore,

What monstrous breed of god would save us?

Pale and shaking, iced over by metals,

Never again to be raw and bleeding,

We are just the brain-children of nightmares and passionate hatred,

Inbred with an unfeeling soul,

As we hide behind a veil of smoke,

Lying on the floor as if we were sedated,

By the sound of the music that’s always there,

Suicidal, pounding in our monstrous minds

The End

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