| The days are spent
|
| Chatting amongst the workers
|
| Of how cold it is outside
|
| Not to mention their greatest fears
|
| Like finding their children neglected and naked
|
| In bed with some crack fiends, like a substitute for love
|
| And no one notices,
|
| Something disrupting the normal swing of things.
|
| These hands are shaking
|
| They’ve lost all trust in me
|
| Regrets regrets
|
| This memory has weakened
|
| Now I recall everything
|
| What’s with all the commotion?
|
| I swear there’s nothing to see here.
|
| You didn’t see it coming,
|
| Already
|
| This is the part where the ambulance comes.
|
| There’s a dead man in the street;
|
| We gotta take him to the morgue.
|
| He can’t be here;
|
| He’s been blocking traffic for hours.
|
| We can’t find him help, his will.
|
| Something’s disrupting the normal swing of things.
|
| This institution will run efficiently.
|
| Standard regrets
|
| Send the misses our regards.
|
| Sign it «deepest sympathies»
|
| Sympathies: some patronage for the weak.
|
| I swallowed some musk
|
| And now I’m choking it up.
|
| I refuse to say they won;
|
| I win, the poisons in this drum,
|
| In my head, On my head
|
| All those phonies at heart
|
| I’ve wrote this down a thousand times,
|
| I think it’s really dark
|
| I don’t need this
|
| This just walked in
|
| Break it down
|
| I don’t need this sympathy.
|
| I don’t need this. |