Nothing in nature sleeps alone.
No animal is born without a home.
We spread black streets across the prairie
Cutting the grass into identical squares.
We set so many black wheels in motion
With so many white lights ahead of them.
We spread white sheets across our beds
And built white ceilings above our heads.
We have laid down death,
we have laid down life,
We have laid it all down,
We have laid down our bets.
We have laid down too much.
We have laid down too long.
Will we stay down while the scythe swings
Through the streets, through the night?
Will we lay low down in our white houses
While the bright scythe searches the night?
What kind of animals are we that hide
In houses that shut out the wounded world?
If all these houses burned to the ground
Would prairie grass grow from the ashes?
Would there be peaceful prairie people then
With proud horses and round houses?
Houses with no locks, no roofs, no rooms,
Just a circle around a fire, around a family.
Or would it be only burnt bones and bricks
Spread out on a grid of back and white
Like some sinister game board, showing Who won the bet we made with death.
We should have known.
Nothing in nature sleeps alone.
No animal is born without a home.
No animals, we have shown ourselves to be.
Monsters, monsters, are we.
The last monsters there will ever be.