The puppets
dance in dark alleys
Black drones drop messages
across of the battlefield, singing
we kill, we kill, we kill
Give us form without substance
There was something common
in our guess work
You blow apart my childhood
fantasies with delight
From the songbirds
below the earth to the golden
fruits of the heavens
I thought all was within reach
Until you drove my unscrutinised
armies back in defeat