The metal skeletons in their Automaton car,
spun around, and spotted from afar,
The only place fate had ever known…

There was there was steam there was grime,
wind and a chime
All around the grunting hills

There was fake, and alive,
and hair, and dye,
no one spoke to a soul!

The war had all burned what left and churned,
The world, was nothing but a mess!

Not a creature talked
asked for time,
all made not a sound.

The train wore a path
on alabaster grass,
and held passengers inside.

There were snakes and birds,
wind-up glossy herds,

Machines
instead
of
Life.

The metal skeletons
swore the ends,
near to the floor.

Under their masks,
a trait
still lasts,

of alertness
and of
strife.

These little thoughts,
worked and crossed.
a Process and a life!

Those metallic words,
stung like a curse,

These machines were
alive.