It’s mass production everywhere I look,
From toys of plastic hope to airplane parts,
And after all the livelihood you took,
You’re pressing mass production upon hearts
By binding hands that never meant you harm,
And feet that never trampled on your dreams,
As tears part from eyes in cold alarm
To join the pools of blood beneath the screams.
A heart’s a forest flushed by hope that springs,
And though you burn down every single tree,
The waters gush and split the seed that sings
The song of life proclaiming it is free
To ever serve the faith to which it clings.