Washing Machine of Humanity

The button opens the door for the cleaning

Powered by the energy of the few, it starts,

Rumbling and twisting the dirt on their spirits, 

as it goes through the time, such action marks,

The beauty of the Thing, the action,

Itself folded on lies and mischief,

Cause there is no soap for the reaction,

to tear apart the anger and the grief,

And there goes the cycle, pure and systemic,

as there is no energy enough for it to change,

so it is not the fate that sentenced it to death,

but only the will that didn´t came this far to strange.