Simple Rhyme for a Complex Subject

So tonight that I might see,
The ministry of honesty,
The troopers' kin in jabbing tears,
that ring with us throughout the years,
but buy us nothing for the nights,
of emptiness and candle lights,
save for our sleep with shake and pills,
that do not cure the deeper ills.

The man machine, a mincer turned,
By fear and oil, with flesh is churned,
The children of all nations fuel,
The great production lines of hell,
The pride of family men who mount,
the bucking engines through the rout,
of all we built and civilized,
of all we loved and those who died.