Society

And this machine

Will twist; confine

Our bodies refine

Like bottles of wine

 

Like stoppers of cork

In a glass; a flask

They tear our backs

Like weeds in grass

 

Our wings are dripping

And sticking and sore

Feathers in gore

They pluck them more

 

We yearn to fly

But we're only drunk

Crushed and wrung

In conformities lungs

 

And this machine

Will bend and writhe

Truth disguised

And dipped in lies

 

Squeeze our limbs

And break our bones

To fit in the mold

Society holds