hands are old

the past is empty

blind and cold

allthe sweat on his back

grabs the dirt stains

his shirt

push all day

rest at night

do some hobbies

drink to forget

a ton of sand at my feet

each a speck

each speck all collecting

in a mass

pressure changing its shape

it's direction

its purpose

as the sea tears it away

from the land

more os pushed back

each different and separate

all has changed

nothing has changed

when the momentum stops

the machine will die

fr some reason we're not alone