A billion minds buzz low in sequence,
striding with signs delivered in earnest.
None can measure Utopian frequence:
a dark conformist turned a reformist.
Ringing in center, devoid of humanity —
the sting of a crutch consumed by them all,
pale seas of sepsis in tranquil vanity,
reduced to base forms by the summoning call.
For to turn from the wave and to gaze away
is to view the horrors, the truth of the drones;
to acknowledge the dark in the light — and betray —
is to look at the base of the throne, with its bones.