My thoughts are piled up high on the sidewalk, like bags the night before garbage day. It's some heavy existentialist trash... death and taxes... basic security... hopes and fears...
So far away from the tears, of a mother I can't find the courage to call. I am powerless too. Cold darkness where it should be green. Matzoh makes its annual debut on a tumultuous scene.
There's no comfort zone for anyone when this train is so packed. Survival comes before creation. There's an expiration date in range, but it seems so far away.
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