Cry Havoc

A city occupied by it's people, a glorious contraption with individual gears that serve a menial purpose; yet in the absence of a piece, creates chaos. The pipes move the water that grow the crops that feed our livestock that pull the carts that carry the supplies that build our homes that shelter the children who grow into the workers that build and maintain the cities' pipes. Poetry in motion. However, the consequence for collective mentality is individuality, posing the question of weather we run our mastodon of a machine into the ground, framing casualties and broken pieces as collateral damage, while the sheep stand in their lines, desensitized, "how they should be.". Replaced as needed, new spawns of them fill the gaps made with the errors of the past; a self prescribed natural selection. While the only other standing option is that of variation, having to plod forward in progress and the extensive use of caution creates a similar effect, individuality at the cost of efficiency. Creating less causalities but threatening complacency. Our people ask the question of whether we should, in fact, ask questions or not. Morality has died and been replaced with the mendacious reassurance synthetically made like everything else and piped onto the food trays by our Big Brother. Our people make progress when they follow blindly. While one has no fear, and no sight, they run faster. And that just makes things a lot harder.