We're Beating On

We're beating on,
beating on,
beating on a dead horse.

But that's no horse
of course.
We just hide the ride
that way.

It's just the old way
we carry on.
A stubborn old thing
that found a new way
to juice that carrot
dangling on
an over extended stick.

And yet its still going
faster than what might be
good for those who long
for laster. For it heard
all too well our cries
of "More, More, More,"
the rebel swell
just a branding, that made it
all sound so good.

And still we beat upon
the beating on
the thing that died
as our old nag
to make us carry on.
With the more coming
too fast to make anything
last.
But now we beat
in various rages
to make it stop.

So now we ride
the wild side
of too much
put into motion
with its own horrible
logic to compel
more terrible feeding
because there's a sweetness still,
to sell and sell and sell,
in that "More, More, More."

Add new diction
to iction, which
is just juiced up itchin,
and you have something
that only hard scratch
can apply to. And that's the only way
they want you to get off.
But drop off
all you want. They have the hard
scratch to make enough
want to keep making more.

So how will you
break it to remake it?
Or will you just keep
beating on,
beating on that dead horse
that's not a horse
of course,
but just the source
of all the other beatings,
as the dead thing rushes on
to the cutting edge
of what can be kept
on bleeding.