channels of woe

where all our silences have come to fail

your senses give us what we do not need

another set of messages to heed

some more false elements for the old tale

those integrators which we would assail

but dare not indicate this is just greed

for simple life of which we own the seed

and the plain clothes to hang upon a nail

who reads the sigil has seen all the rot

of centuries fall off from eyes turned cold

not through hard pain but from exploded rage

at all the sordid horrors of our lot

these terrors that besiege our growing old

and the sad beasts that lie within each cage