Silver Age

March, march, march
Line, line, line
A new world we build
A new world in time
Puriates drive
Ladders of lines breaking straight through
Proletarian rhymes
Sharp and quick the beat
Ragged, bold, the pace
This algorithm
Known in every place
He believed sang burned roar
Just like a motor
He cut, tore and hurled, he forged
He was a poet, he marched along
Pounding meaning flat, blood pulsed through his veins
Jackhammers, rat-tat-tat
Sharp and quick the beat
Ragged bowl the pace
This algorithm
Known in every place
A Mauser shot rang out
It cut the march's beat
Meaning slipped away
He ceased belief's heartbeat
The red pedestal it turned out a lie
In everyday life
He vanished gone by
Sharp and quick the beat
Ragged bold the pace
This foreign algorithm
No longer had its place
A futurist poet
From bygone years and lines
From newspaper pages
He left behind his signs
And in the poet's soul, its own trace stayed
Smoking the alluring scent of
American cigarettes displayed
Broadway's dazzling, beckoning silhouette
Bars, luxury, feathers, burlesque
The chorus lines ballet ballet ballet