Brass people play broken pianos
cracked keys turn to dust
and pigeons with metal wings
shit on cars made entirely of plastic.
fourty seconds in a minute
thirty hours in a day
and twenty days until i get shot.
manufactured mannequins
roam streets late at night
begging for ten cents
buy themselves another can of oil
fourty seconds in a minute
thirty hours in a day
and ten days until i'm shot.
Metal people in glass houses
work around the clock
just so fat-filled flesh-sacks
can have their breakfast of corrigated cardboard sludge.
fourty seconds in a minute
thirty hours in a day
and one day until i'm shot.
cellophane trees with ceran wrap leaves
tower tall above the pop bottle flowers
that line the city streets
passed by un-noticed
as am i, a plastic being
faceless to the world
collapsed on the rubber sidewalk
the movator continues turning.
fourty seconds in a minute
thirty hours in a day
motor oil drips from empty eye socket.
batteries don't last forever.
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