a common talking in our world
a childlike disillusion
mechanic treads, static lines
we operate in poor resolution, scared
scared ‘cause I’d be there for you
and it hurts
I would be there, but as a living dead
like a creature on your blouse
to be connected is so sad
monsters under your bed
don’t accept any word
reprove, repeat a worn-out fusion
mockery, crew cut, travertine
be well spoken of, fuel is an illusion (I have)