We've reached the place where screams aren't heard.
You'd think they'd build into a din,
but one can't grasp a single word.
It has become silent as sin.

The angry words are shot to black -
that inky void that's unpatrolled,
It's silent, yet all're struck by flak.
Still, no one admits being sold.

But each life 's a product consumed.
They wail away the night and day,
pretending they're not rightly doomed.
Some will say that it's here to stay...

True, but are we?