The Changing Times, Are They....

The changing times, are they…..

Always fifty five yards from,
the point of nowhere,
and the last mile,
starts like the one before.
Last time I was given those apples,
sweetly did I eat up the core.

The engine doesn’t loudly drone,
it just goes round, turning round.
Putting on a Bowie cd, my,
what an awesome sound.

Wheel starts picking up those miles,
and some of them are the past.
People looking very tired and grey,
tells the knowing, no ones here to last.
 
Feel the ever seeking rhythm, of romance,
resounding on the diverse flame.
It touches each dancer,
to remind them,
why we’ve always played,
the same.

No longer the wild imagining,
of the sickly child on wheels.
So beautifully has it worked,
another one of our devil’s deals.

The runner runs for profit,
but the workers hands are still.
We're inside the auditorium,
with an awful lot of hours to kill.

People can still be hero’s,
and will have a need to be.
Oliver only asked for more,
didn’t anyone hear or see.