Terrible Machine
By Paul J. Radford
You see this terrible machine
It’s been working for centuries
Oiled by the blood and spite of good men
For castles, palaces, and penitentiaries
You see this terrible machine
Its cogs be not fit
But forced into place, by a nameless face:
For a pardoned illicit profit
You see this terrible machine,
It turns and turns and turns
No matter the price, nor the pain
As it is not them, but he, who yearns.
You see this terrible machine
It’s operated by deceitful cliques
Who stand proud upon their beautiful hills
Waving down upon the lunatics
You see this terrible machine
Forever it shall weep,
Like a starving child or a slaughtered lamb
Nevertheless, the feast must reap
You see this terrible machine
It runs for avarice desire
No heed, nor woe, no plead, nor foe
Sommer work; tax; grave or pyre.
You see this terrible machine
Yes, its parts do expire
But it spawns yet more pawns
Fuelling its despotic hellfire
You see this terrible machine
To which that you rely
Like a fish swimming in a glass bowl
You have no choice, but comply
You see this terrible machine
And your pitiful glass cage,
You do not see that there’s a wider ocean
Of liberty and sage.