The Silver Age

A new foggy moon rises above the city, it burns like acid

And it runs on pain we’re swallowing to keep ourselves gaslit.

There aren’t any blushing faces, only grey wooden sculptures

Carved out of those of us who forgot when to unfollow the culture.

Enchanted silver surfaces set out as traps –

We do know better but we still give in,

We burn the books and the maps.

A new Gravitron sun spins around us making the city dizzy

And it runs on the acid we’re spitting up to pretend we’re busy.

No eyes looking up in the streets, just crowds blending together,

Dragging their feet towards the buzz of heads being severed.

Enchanted silver surfaces set out as traps –

We do know better but we still give in,

We burn the books and the maps.