Factory City

holding time with fragile hands,
I pray that I remain in these lands,
vast and abstract it grows,
and without order it smoothly floats,
empty of rape and insecurity,
my world spins in perfect harmony,
as an ancient aura reconciles with the Factory City,
but it doesn't know the City works secretly,
blackening the edges in the cave,
pretending to know how to save,
bending the soaring dots,
a vision confused and in knots,
urgent to breach our harmless gates,
with pressure made of fading fates,
the metal racket tears at the ends,
of my jailed mind's chance to mend,
sent from the mouth of the Factory City,
so hard it hurts itself,
without nature it breathes naturally,
piercing the sounds of help,
so efficient and productive,
it can conquer this world's vice,
never doubting how to conduct,
it has programmed sight,
following without question,
I offer a simple suggestion,
fall apart so you can find a spirit,
ask the smallest dream what it hears,
but in order to see,
you must exit the Factory City,
and enter the fields of hope,
that lead us onto the happy boats,
travel past the past's current,
don't let the Factory City remain,
for it raises the dead's domain,
the only weapon we can use to protect,
ourselves against such an unworthy prospect,
is a peek into pandora's box,
unraveling the cartoon house made to rule.