The World by X-Machina

Why do you expect to see | the kingdom come before thee?
You complain it isn’t here—like a tram or bus—
Is that how it should be?

You pray, profess, curse the state—shake your fist at Elon’s face
Cry, wail, lament your place—the big bad city in such disgrace.
Think upon the truth, the reality—
You are on the bus—living the paid penny

All your life has ever been—all your history—if only three were left
Upon this platform you would still— pleading—only stand oppressed
By one, or many, all the same, or do you claim liberty?

Here on this temporal plane?

Difficult, dirty, uncleaned by thee
And only every now and then
You perceive the shades of beauty—

You are living in a dream yet to be—
You are asking for something incomplete.
Why do you expect to see
That kingdom here before thee?

You plan, you talk, you ignore the view—
Your sinew, phone, your words, the books—
The hyperlinks to google heaven—cued

Or otherwise, despairing of humanity—
Waiting here upon our rock.
Thou art pleased to be against the machine—poetically—

But what is revealed of the plan, the route, the cause?
The knowledge we have seen, and caught, we leave behind—
and what we do not see and never sought—we take along.

Dusted, messy, toiling, glancing up—
for swift moments among the meadows breeze.

Waiting flower of eternity—your naïveté astounds

You were given the pass; the driver only asked one thing—
love thy fellow passenger.

And keep the noise down.

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