March

I deal in harsh words, raw and mean
that do not aim to please.
I talk of landscapes yet unseen,

where nothing's king, corruption queen,
and rotten is the golden fleece.
I deal in raw words, harsh and mean.

I'll feed your dreams to the machine
that no one can appease.
I talk of landscapes yet unseen,

where nothing lives, has never been
a state of freedom nor of peace.
I deal in harsh words, raw and mean.

No hidden messages between
the endless lines that never cease
to talk of landscapes yet unseen.

A story made of bones picked clean,
a tale of no release.
I deal in raw words, harsh and mean,
I talk of landscapes best unseen.