There is no satiation
for the man who begs in the train station.
He only wanted a short vacation,
but now he's high on the medication
and has lost his drive to the nation.

Now he can't break his fixation
on the thing that's the imitation
of the joy from liberation
that he'll never get from exploitation
or the momentarily pleasing sensation.

He banks all his accusations
on his friends and false information
and insists there's no correlation
between his health and exultation.
Every morning is a new libation.

His drug furthers his damnation
and says there's no negotiation
for he is but a fly to creation.
There is no satiation
for the man who begs in the train station.