As The World Turns

In the middle of the town sat a piece of dust, it was the wind that moved the world around and built entire cities of speckled parts, million masses of a millionth. Ever discuss the world with friends? Probably get a few blank stares. I need a long vacation. Would do me good. Don’t ask me what to do with the children, they will learn as I did, in their cage stuffing their brain with whatever mild perversities are needed to survive. Let's call that character. All these phrases are new, I have a new phrase to tell you. Grab that woman and give her a kiss, melt the magic in the momentary mist, you dissolve all atmosphere into day but clarity can be anticlimactic. The world is the oyster of the psychopaths, the corporations aren’t human, zombies more like it – ‘Brains! Brains!’ the monster-trucks exemplars of the industrial wrath. Create the world in seven days. Unlock the ocean and part each wave. Combing the waters as you straighten the stars. Sometimes the world looks great from afar. I was tall once, a mountain, I stood among clouds, but the clouds don’t speak and a giant gets lonely. Let me crawl in dust and sweat and bleed, it’s all written down in the Apostle’s Creed. Each singer has just one song. Sing it from the spine, ca Enough! Enough! Don’t let my head turn or my attention stray, I have stiff competition yet I give it all away. Dinosaurs drive my car! Dinosaurs drive my car! Their extinction expedites my own. I’m a fossil fool. But it’s a useful tool. Pulling us up by our bootstraps, melt a few billion ice caps along the way. Cancer? Chalk it up to experience and usher in the era of housemaid robots. Oh progress! We are freed from work! But the reverse is true, each email I send you and I’m shackled to the pew. I would ‘reply all’ if I could, it’s a faster way to goodbye. I’m a sucker for pithy, push me out so I can fly, but flight is an illusion, it’s more like floating than flight; we are flying fish floating through air. We’re little specks passing through, atoms from solid to liquid to gas, all three states are possible every time you blink, you miss your chance to walk through walls. I’m a victim of the remote control epoch. Nothing if not a mirror. This constant state of disbelief, I can suspend judgment but not incredulity. Dearth! The Dearth! This perpetual obsession for worth! I’m a victim of the remote control epoch. Nothing if not a mirror. Dearth! The Dearth! This perpetual obsession for worth! Dearth! The Dearth! This perpetual obsession for worth!