Carved out of stone, earth, blood and bonenknock the mountains downnthe earth's grating soundsnthey soothe the great machinesnthat yearn desperatelynjust to lay them down within her gaping mouthnmore than a symbolnmore than I bargained fornthey wander ridges highnbetween the earth and skynlike spikes upon a crown we wear upon our brownand want is not a need reserved for human beingsnit's fingers on your throatnis pain that all things knownAn army of the golems is stalking, now, the heart's landsneating all realitynproducing only dust and sandnnothing hurts themnnothing gets under their stone skinnand when their earthern mouths will open upnjust what words should come out? butnwe wish we were dead
Earthmover
Have a Nice Life
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