Leuk ?
We, the nightingales
As we sit, packed in concrete, imprisoned by the day
Useless motion behind glass, senseless and silent decay
Our fearless meditation till mass tranquilisation
Our endless repetition till some form of notification
...The nightingales chant rarely delights
Efforts ignored, waste of delicate flesh...
Drowned out by the smoke and dusk
Noised into a grey bin of dusk
Normally we'd stop here
At this modern insight
What would happen if we'd continue ?
Blood on our hands and lips ?
Dried up red sticks on our chins ?
__________________
Lampaan.
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