A humans race.

Keep changing the start sign
running miles for a three foot race
the finish ribbon change to entwine
wrap around to pull you back at the waist
fall hard, awake to a box with the smell of pine
shallow breath of a life encased, labelled misplaced.

Guess it's, till do us part, rise while lied in decline.

Eureka.

Crown the eureka for the pounds measurable
to golden life beholden to the ever fashionable.

Look up and down visions the same, only seconds evolutionary.

Lets grow down together, too few to start again
listening close to those easily sustained
on where to aim, yet misdirect and labelled de-ranged
illusionary right for distractionary pain to keep the populace sane.

Inoke the wisdom of minimal minute men drowning, in nominal fame.

Encore

Captivating deception of programming decapitation.

So you like cardboard names, hunger fuelled meals to ration
harrowing waves of sorrow in an overcrowded station.

"Good, so wipe the fountain full of tears
for we, not you, are in for a bountiful salvation."

So you like swelling sores, as long as there's pills to cure
the aches and feverish pains radiate in vain, as screams sound more.

"Good. For we exclaim the destractionary gain, the discharge that drains
'pon the destructionary visuals that populate the echoing applause,
 for an encore."