Act 1

hang on the railing
she leans on the doors
and he's painting a picture
of whores who are wailing
and beating their wrists
insisting on sailing
discontent with the progress
and process of living
in lands that're selling
the margins of debt
in the process of giving
technological depths
in the fruits of a city
where living isn't breathing
and air molds gritty
little finger tip
tripped traps leading
towards holes in pavement
where dying men are
enclaved like caves--

and leviathan's brother
a steel train's angry wheels turn
like the breasts of its mother
feeding its daughter till
her turn its her turn,
oil spills and scraped wires
just burn,
the tracks all lead under water
and we're taking on lead
"yeah taking to water,"
like the paths of our fathers
old fathers four fathers
and their dad's and sisters
before them
before cloth calculated
leviathans direction;
he's moving so fast
the roads above are broken,
and we're moving so fast
our futures are broken--
so we look towards the sea,
and even Chiba
is silent.