You can try and try
To get what you need,
But you'll quickly see
That the vultures will feed
On your hopes and dreams
Till the bones are picked clean
And bleach in the sun,
To be found by some
Factory worker's son
Playing in the street,
He'll pick them up
And make them his,
Until he bleeds
From every cyst
And the dreams leak out.

You'll see, it'll happen forever,
Repetitive like the weather,
We're just two feathers
Carried by a breeze
That landed together
And bonded
With the ease
Of the buttons
Of your sweater.