There is an old machine,A massive conveyer belt I think, or at least it was.It’s rusted and dingy, and it’s parked across the street.It looks like a dinosaur, with it’s the long neck rising,It’s massive head protruding from the top.And nobody notices it there.They drive past on their way to newer, shinier things.But I like the dinosaur, heavy, immovable, and left behind.I am a dinosaur, heavy, immovable, and left behind.And yet alive. That’s what makes us different.We, the broken, dingy, people left behind, will rise.We’ll rise when shiny things are left behind.

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