grinding gears lubed with tears, conks of fears
watching our lives in third person
cause one, I took the train
and second couldn't find his shoes so he never left the house
removed and removed
washing liquid down to feel something new
like maybe just a few more stabs of caffeine and my eyes will open
press the shutter release for just a few more shots
cause what the **** are we going to do
every step is emulsion on this best selling picture
throw the negatives in the drawers, junk
like if its not seen it doesn't mean nothing
like the junkies sinking into the street
waging wars with humanity and street signs
signs hanging when our streets change from alphabets
to bets with god for the latest meal
its a modern day last supper
like sup girl whispers through the table
drown the woes of dinner conversation in the chances to kiss her
because sense only reaches as far as our toes
walk with confidence, but our brains have lost it
what you see is what you get
put your best foot next, one in front of the other
trained at birth to fool our limbs
to contort to our latest whim
washed out like our denim washes
**** him