There is nothing more to that life
Than television and kinesthesia,
You wait for a train on the wrong platform,
How long has it been since you’ve gotten off track?
I've got my pencil mustache
To draw out all of these words
That I hid under a top hat.
But what is it that you say
That you don't know what it means?
Wear me out on your incessant treading,
The screeching of rail and flashing lights.
Don't cross me, you have lost me
More than what I think would ever be right.
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