Clockwork

In and out of packs who barely note my absence
Each functions smoothly as a broken clock
What's persuasive, is born of sheer coincidence
Run and fly, descend, we feed, then move off
If this is a beginning, beginning of what?
The cogs, coiling springs, they never stop
Counting up to future time they never meant to come
Those who won't learn the course of the ships they pilot

Civilizations of clockwork, fire and glass
Scents of warm bodies, rot, bone, and volcanic ash

Within all their motion, don't see this tail's unmoving
They repeat what they're made for, unquestioned
But when was the last time they wound up their springs?
Driven by fruits of spoiled knowledge long turned to carrion
If this is a beginning, beginning of what?
Their cogs, their coils, never bother to stop
Ticking till a coming time burns their back-stripe right off
And they won't learn to steer the vessels they pilot

Civilizations of clockwork, fire and glass
Scents of warm bodies, rot, bone, and volcanic ash

Is this the start of something that can't ever be stopped?
Wind on this flank mixing my scent with their breath's rot
They never meant these things, this time, to come
So they tick on, as though it has not

Civilizations of clockwork, fire and glass
Scents of warm bodies, rot, bone, and volcanic ash