What time is it?

Is it time for the drivel to flow

From the mouths of fake historians

On high?

For generations of coddled sheep

To be herded by fallen shepherds

To die

What time will it be

When the burgeoning masses awake?

By that time they are helpless to change

Their fate

If suddenly clocks should spin faster

The hive mind could never think it is

Too late

What time is it now?

For all I can see is a dead end

Scribed on white walls with wipeable pens

I cry

Not on their thirst for damnation

But for the coming of longer days

On high

–

Written by Daniel José Soto