Time makes dust from mountains
But that's not all we are doing here
Thats not reason we are placed
To stand in place and save face
I slave at my desk all day
Paper dries up like used ink on payday
Its not so much a theology of looseleaf
We're drained and in chains;
See it on newsweek
Weekly updates, while were living for the weeks end
Tell me as a good friend, can I trust the broad lens?
Of trajectory, these aquaintences foul, with no respect for me
Meanwhile, the green mile, seems part of the recipe
Its do or die, live to try, that or just rest in peace
I work for the sweet release
To relize the soul-shine
Everytime it hits like an acid-drip, I cry
We've looked to pharmaceuticals for what is found in musicals
The joy of an expression that is Gone With the Wind
I'm thinking its original sin, holding us captive
I'm thinking of a place to begin, and share compassion
I'm drinking like a fish in a den, feeling my facets
Sinking into miserys grin, broaden the bandwidth
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