A Reapers Machine

Hot white harvest a bone dry land years have been spent building this reapers Machine on desolate Sand American madness An empire of a dream, dark start the towers gleaming. Reaching into open sky as ravens gather to blackened out a sapphire sky reapers machine Dead at last Among the shafts of wheat there in it’s rusted stance, Headlights broken dead eyes stare Light nova’s off shattered glass shown bright like Sunbursts on the Fields of barley and rye A Machine built on the backs of the damned enslaved Lost and insane in distant summers ago rains hide far over the mountain range White horizon seam hot white sands A bone brittle days years have come to pass the machine of man derelict at last on these brutal wind swept lands American empires of madness dream of a reapers machine Dead in its last stance. Eyes vacant gleam, under a harsh yellow sun Among the fields of wheat and barley…