And I feel like this barn

Just standing around like I was built there. Waiting in time because no one has ever waited for time, and survived. Elements, as they may be, gang up; wind with grains from the Sahara and the strongest giant drops of acid rain smashing caressingly against my tired, old, facia. The welcome mat says we come. And they come... and go.
Children picking off the small flecks of paint. The wind shaking. Old, I Am.

I feel like that when I don't care.
Seeing it everyday. The same old advancing swarm.
Always smoking and clawing at everything.
A great mass of dark cloaked men and women hiding
behind our day.
Throwing themselves at us.
I won't budge.
There is certain death there.
There is friction. There is decay.
The latter falls off. The roof blows away.
Small children have large heads
impessionable
beasts.
Yet the wind blows them
coming from lies on the tube
it always reaches
especially the poor.
I stand and watch the best of us and the weakest,
come up and fall down.