The Sound of the Machine


In the corner of this
room with a view
on a turbulent world

from a faded picture
god dressed in a harlequins dress
is staring into the semidarkness

a river unceasingly pouring
its tristesse into this world
is flowing past the everburning pyres,
gates to another world

every day again the homeless
fight over the leftovers of those
who always look at you
with their hired smiles

sad tunes from a tango bar
in downtown Buenos Aires
on a Monday morning
reverbarate through the subway station

the monotonous sound
of this ever running machine
cannot be turned off


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Filed under Lyrics / Poems

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