The surveillance state hums low,
boots sync with the satellites —
marching for billionaire masters.
They began with kindness —
a soft promise of safety.
A form to sign, a simple favor:
“Keep an eye out.”
Smiles hide microphones,
neighbors trade their souls for peace —
fear pays the reward.
The house becomes ears with hidden cameras.
The wind carries reports.
A man signals to his neighbor,
and both of them are ready for the kill.
The machine of flesh
The army is a mirror now:
faces masked, to reveal only power, deception, authoritarian might —
soldiers are equipped to see what the satellites see.
Their hearts are slowed to the tune of the hum of drones.
The spying machine slithers low,
boots sync with the satellites —
marching for billionaire masters.
Rich men sip the feed,
wars bloom where their money grows —
blood becomes their stock in trade.
The Empire is led by the money-men. They have contracts.
They have data.
They have your pulse before you feel it.
The surveillance machine sinks low,
boots sync with the satellites —
marching for the billionaire masters.
Whispers are weighed by the gram.
Every confession has a barcode.
The truth becomes a currency
only the dead can afford.
Whispers sold like gold,
each rumor a coin of death —
truth is exchanged for power.
A neighbor names her friend,
A family names their sister,
the file fills, the drone ascends —
innocence is gone.
Screens tremble with names.
Algorithms measure guilt in decimals.
Wealth buys children to exploit, hidden by corrupt politicians —
marching for billionaire masters.
Every house is watched.
Every watcher has a superior.
Every superior has an owner.
It all loops upward,
until it touches the white hands of the men who are the billionaire masters.
Every gaze a gun,
every silence a report —
no one left unseen.
The city kneels down,
its heart rewired for watching —
love replaced by corruption and deceit.
Children learn that affection is risk.
Mothers whisper through static.
Friendship dissolves into suspicion.
The developers and oil barons destroying Mother Earth do not fear hell —
they’ve built it,
and charge rent for every breath inside.
One signal goes dark,
a spark crawls beneath the code —
The billionaires look up,
seeing stars they cannot own —
As the army machine purrs for the billionaires.
Art by Kate W 