You, under clouds of winter storm
armfuls of folders stacked neatly
become a spreading anarchy
attempts to bring order
have papers flying
The glowing orb demands worship
and finds every little crack
in the logic of night time
Calm and naked in conference but
hesitation when woken up fully clothed
drained of all resolution
explained away the nature of circumstance
When it is like this, who can you blame?
Who can fight the treason
of the faceless?
Looks from above form
modern justice has many reasons
that will not convince
Bitter jostling at the surface
who is to feel the bite of crisis
as it's jaws lock down?