When the alarms struck high,

we knew we could not fly,

when the drums were beating,

never was our courage fleeting,

while flares and shells went arching.

underneath, we were marching,

against machine gun spray and rifle rattle,

we charged forth into fiery battle,

against the foe from dusk till dawn,

and so suddenly many friends were gone,

yet drawing breath, on we went,

even after our cartridges were spent,

it came down to blades and bayonet thrusts,

soon we became like a wind at gust;

eventually we saw the sun,

although we weren’t sure if we lost or won,

but as we lit our last cigarettes

and pondered triumphs and regrets,

we spared no cares for this nether,

for we had fought it all together;

however war is misbegotten,

we knew we wouldn’t be forgotten,

least of all by our brothers,

whom we loved like no others.

The wheels are forever turning,

the fire never stops burning,

the headlight is ever gleaming.

the whistle is always screaming,


Its timetables haven’t been rationed

yet it stops at every station,

with nooses upon the telegraph poles,

making calls for departed souls,


an engine of ghastly fire and acrid smoke,

it ruins the ground, the air it chokes,

leaving a wake of coal and oil and flame;

soon a sea of ashen barrens and distant shame.


The engineer knows not where it’s going,

only that the train must keep flowing,

an iron fortress that cannot be subsumed;

an industrial evil that must consume.

Time marches onward,

turn the hands forward,

never to rewind

with the present I shall rebind;

so once more I take up the pen

never paying mind or wondering when

my time should ever come

for I’m marching to the beat of my own drum,

with a new and burning zeal

and nerves composed of steel,

that I can muster at the least,

for my heart is back in the East.

Welcome to this house of cheats,

our prices are never beat!

For you sir a surprising lack of sleep,

I offer it to you cheap;

no more than a measly five

and I’ll throw in a failure of drive!


There you have it and sold

but I just took this off hold;

a bounty of ceaseless worry

that’ll leave your nerves a slurry!

It’s yours for an extra ten,

just sign here with my pen!


But what’s this upon my stage,

just a burning incandescent rage!

For twenty I guarantee you’ll stay pissed,

even after a lover’s kiss!

Ah but before you trundle,

I’ve got right here a bundle;

a romantic heart so broken,

it’ll make all your feelings oaken.


Thirty and five is my tally,

but to ward off any rally,

here’s a crappy job filled with stress,

with pay so good you can’t dream of less,

for forty I can throw in a crappy boss;

are the i’s all dotted and the t’s crossed?


Now it is my pleasure,

to introduce this lovely treasure:

one whopping sensation of being alone,

worse than you have ever known;

with such a delightfully harmful vise,

can you really give it a price?


I’m just hitting my prime;

just look at those numbers climb!

And I know you can afford all of it

even if you’d rather leave and quit;

c’mon we’ve got your mental health to kill

so just write your name on the fucking bill.

**** out of luck,

chasing a few lousy bucks,

working the same Summertime grind,

making just enough to purchase some rinds.


Whatever used to be my will,

has been replaced by countless bills,

watching pocket change for which I sweat,

feed into that fucking bottomless debt.


Knights were always rewarded for their toil,

with boundless treasures and spoils,

while once again I’ve been trapped,

because my weekly wage has been capped.


Just another familiar kick to the groin,

to keep me sprinting after a few scant coins,

putting up with endless abuse and harm,

when the taxman has me by the arm.


How I wish I could flee before I rust,

yet here I remain, bound and trussed,

standing amid angry shouts and whirring blades,

hoping this month I’ll be paid.

please just let me sleep

and I beg you make it deep

to shed vexation I still do keep

just one night where I do not weep

in which tomorrow does not appear too steep

and with no more sorrows that root and seep