There is an old machine,
A massive conveyer belt I think, or at least it was.
It’s rusted and dingy, and it’s parked across the street.
It looks like a dinosaur, with it’s the long neck rising,
It’s massive head protruding from the top.
And nobody notices it there.
They drive past on their way to newer, shinier things.
But I like the dinosaur, heavy, immovable, and left behind.
I am a dinosaur, heavy, immovable, and left behind.
And yet alive. That’s what makes us different.
We, the broken, dingy, people left behind, will rise.
We’ll rise when shiny things are left behind.
