the price we pay

 

progress
 with multimedia lenses on plastic eyes looking far away
 in air-conditioned temples singing in chorus the same refrain
again and again

 the price we pay

and we are angry, furious
 and we complain, we cry, and we despair
but then
we pay

 

yet we know that much more we cannot swallow
yet we know that much more one cannot fill the soul's shell
 and yet

 

 progress
broken glasses and plastic bottles under our feet

we are like mannequins staring to the sky
 with in the heart a memory of paradise
 and in our gazes the empty and metallic taste
 of these gray suburban trails

 

 the price
we pay

 

Marco Bo