frustrate their knavish tricks

the plane that passes seems like a small toy
we hardly hear its engine's quiet beat
it's like the mad dream of an urgent boy
but quieter than traffic in the street
the content of the message that we learn
but nothing of the journey nor the time
something inside us must resist the burn
and let us know our choice is not a crime
the meaning's in the spaces not the words
communication is all that signifies
eloquence comes cheaper than the turds
and all we hear turns out to be just lies
behold the hero comes with sword of tin
our hopes have all been dashed into the bin