Silver Age

March, march, march
Line, line, line
A new world we build
A new world in time
Puriates drive
Ladders of lines breaking straight through
Proletarian rhymes
Sharp and quick the beat
Ragged, bold, the pace
This algorithm
Known in every place
He believed sang burned roar
Just like a motor
He cut, tore and hurled, he forged
He was a poet, he marched along
Pounding meaning flat, blood pulsed through his veins
Jackhammers, rat-tat-tat
Sharp and quick the beat
Ragged bowl the pace
This algorithm
Known in every place
A Mauser shot rang out
It cut the march's beat