A/N: Old! Turn back!
[spoiler]Jaws of steel:
Serrated teeth, razor sharp and crunching,
Grinding up the earth
As a giant grinds man's bones.
Long handled mouths,
Orifices of black, ever wide and growing
Becoming even larger
The better to eat you with, my dear.
They sit on the hillcrest
With their silver bells and cockle shells
Like little maids all in a row.
Greasy gears:
Clanking bits of iron, diamond hard and crushing
Pounding down the rocks
Into user-friendly boulevards.
Plumes of dense exhaust
Ebony clouds of trouble, ever hot and reeking,
Stale with the screams
Of land once untouched by asphalt.
They sit on the hillcrest
With their silver bells and cockle shells
Like little maids all in a row.
Rumbling tracks:
Notched belts, moving fast and eating
Consuming the vast miles.
As Jack Horner would eat a plum.
Much too quickly
The land can't escape, too slow and rooted,
Cemented where it stands
Not nimble enough to clear the candle.
So They sit on the hillcrest
Gluttonous monsters of man's creation
With jaws of steel and greasy gears and rumbling tracks
Like little maids all in a row.[/spoiler]
