Without metaphor

When history knows that you and I will 

come to pass in its' repetitious trance

We built you to outlive, cast in black bronze, 

delivering gods to be adored in 

flock, the brave, the new, our wide eyed newborns  

''The world's a child that needs this lie to prove 

the greatest stake en masse justifies sport 

and class, the bead of colored glass to warm 

a ball, (insured), sold, and so lovingly

tossed to these rabies infested dogs,- You 

are but a name of an abandoned home,

So,

TRUST IN US'' 

I trust your bones