Boots on concrete, morning grey, same cold street, same dead display. Windows glow with borrowed light, we move through another night. Empty faces, neon rain, every step repeats the pain. Sirens hum like lullabies, numbing all our quiet cries. We know there is no rescue, no promised better day. But still our feet keep moving because we never learned to stay. Forward into nowhere, no mercy, no release. We march without a future, we march without a peace. Forward into nowhere, no gospel, no reward. Just bodies in formation around a rusted world. Workplace glow and ticking clocks, plastic plants and coffee rot. Smiles stapled to our skin, scripts of “fine, thanks” wearing thin. We sign our names on empty lines, trade the years for overtime. They call this “path” and “chosen life”, we call it slowly shaved-down light. We see the walls get closer, the exits painted shut. But turning back means nothing, there’s no “before” to cut. Forward into nowhere, no mercy, no release. We march without a future, we march without a peace. Forward into nowhere, no gospel, no reward. Just bodies in formation around a rusted world. Step by step, the same direction, no salvation, no correction. Every road returns us here, every choice the same veneer. They say “keep going, trust the plan”, but the map is just a brand. So we move because we must, metal bones in walking dust. Forward. No way out. Forward. Full of doubt. Forward. Dead-end road. Forward. Under load. Forward into nowhere, no heroes, no parade. Just footsteps in the silence around a debt unpaid. Forward into nowhere, no miracles, no sign. Still we move together across the tangled line. Forward into nowhere, no mercy, no release. We march because there’s nothing but the march and this disease.
