Leave for this industrial wasteland,
it'll treat your heart like coal -
pile it up in heaps of dust,
then use to warm their homes.
As I sit, astound, in this classroom,
and let my yell jump off the walls,
I realize - I always write
to define what I'll never own.
And so I'll scribble her down, like a madman,
just to hear her words,
and they'll blur with mine until my mind
can't remember which ones we've heard.
Leave for this industrial wasteland,
where the ground's a soggisg grey.
Where toddler drink beer and the introverts fear that
they were once like them.
Leave for this industrial wasteland,
it'll solve your troubled mind,
'cause if you cannot feel any extremes,
then you'll know you've already died.