The strong are always leaving

So that the weak may grow

To be shaken from their dreaming

What he wonders, she already knows


Children throwing stones

Til everyone is dead

Or until Mother Sophia

Puts them all to bed


A blind man screaming

At the deaf who cannot hear

Who wonder if he’s singing

And why he gestures so severe


The Small Wheel turns

Crushing all in its path

While the parade marches on

Into the bloody aftermath


And the gold-plated pipes

Of the canary loudly sing

A mesmerizing tune

Despite a mechanical ping


As they stomp the grapes

For their intoxicating brew

Which their priest will quickly bless

And they’ll sip within their pews


And no more doves are commissioned

To check receding waters or growth

They’ve all been plucked clean

And bar-b-qued right on the boat


Unnoticed the Big Wheel moves

Like the ocean dark and deep

Too much for most to fathom

They much prefer their sleep


And they pray their souls to keep

As salvation slips out of reach

And there’s no one left to teach

As the waves devour their beach

While gentle Moon hides her face once again.