On this
Stage.
Where
Your money speaks your power
Your face becomes the admirer
Your body possesses the desire
Your person goes to cower
Your words turns to powder
Unnoticed by the rusty hinges,
Swept away by the churning gears.
Which sane mortal would otherwise consume
The plethora of matter
To upgrade a machine
Which ticks away sickly
Until death grinds the bones away?
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