Voices blur through the day where the windows get dirtier,where the reflection staring back
meets the reality of the viewing party
the face is not mine or who it should be
it is the withered onlooker of the daily routine
nose to the grindstone,hammer in the pie
waiting and hoping
listening to the hum of the great buzzing social engine
this working dinosaur’s remains wont’ be worth a barrle of piss in todays market
the longer grind,the less it’s worth
bring on a meteor
make us worth something as we slowly toil and decay
for the better running engines


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