The Hum

Go back to your violent grace

Your elegant waste

Your newspaper paste

Trained tweaker taste

It’s all good

It’s all legal after all

But the future is moving

Too slow at a rapid pace

When the rabid ones

Are not free to die

An every electrical device

Unmoving, ruins your life

Soon the candles won’t burn fire

And the night will tame all desire

Slave to light sockets

Which were paid for from your pocket

You’re walking on a street of waves

An even dead trees somehow misbehave

When on every corner, inside them all

There’s the dearest, faintest, little hum

Yeah, there’s always an end to this

But knowing them they’ll ruin it

Do a down periscope on your soul

Is there anywhere left to go

That’s not gridlocked or sold

Well, now I really know

The worst is yet to come

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