Flocks of boomerangs cloud every light
Every building and street corner
A panopticon
Always on
Day and night
Creatures scurry for the illusion of privacy
A fallacy of modernity
They’re in you
They’re in me
A Stasi wet dream
Hoovering our cream
Block, flock, and two smoking cameras
Making prisoners of all of us
Miles of tape
And entire forests could never dare to compare
As we stare into the void
Death of our world
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