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And if it breaks, it will not start again.
It turns the days and marks the tune of time,
the motor runs a race it will not win.

All struggle's struggle's sake, and it's in vain,
this thing we've built of stone on slipping slime,
and if it breaks, it will not start again.

See wheels all turning, newsmen with their spin.
Though it may rise up to the heights sublime,
the motor runs a race it will not win.

See farmers in the fields, who grow the grain,
who hold it till the start of wintertime;
see if they break, they will not rise again.

Though some would say it suns on Adam's sin,
while others blame the rich men for the crime,
the motor runs a race it will not win.

The ending is contained when it begins,
the engine thrummed before I set to rhyme,
and if it breaks, it will not start again.
The motor runs a race it will not win.

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(Photo credit: "Collapse" from russellstreet on Flickr)