The chime of the clock rang –
A broken call forth to arms
All the same broken. He called
Out to the great crowd by the overgrown lawn
In the courtyard and shouted pleas to the chief.
But her ears remained closed behind doors
Corrupt with greed and callous desire.
She tore them to the ground
And upon their graves she basked in glory
“The budget has never looked so good, Harlene”.
But now they have come for the art history;
Perhaps we should fall into the arms of assent
Atop their broken dreams –
Who will we be?
We do not know where to begin,
Resistance is futile;
For the institution wins,
Over the faint cries,
Drowned by money
They celebrate in their towers, the clock chimes.