Tell me how it is
When the dinner of a vulture's feast,
Nothing's left under twined chandeliers
For the winds to carry to the northeast.
The more I feed on faithless songs,
The more I feel out of place,
It could be just like the rest of long
Days that fade to a dusty case
[Of me vs. the world.]
Despite what I've been told,
The dim lights of denial
Ropes in anyone that feels old
Fingering the spinning telephone dial.
I've been replaced with sensible luck,
The rhythm of speaking tongues that tell
Me how to take in truth, so fuck
Anyone that doesn't understand my hell.
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