And shit is written in bits and bits
But a pieced approach does not at all
Allow for words, the muses call
But the phone's offline
I'd hope this funk would lift in time
But forcing words, just not my kind
Of thing, you know?
On my side I've time and means
But not the drive to do, it seems
For to do is to be and couldn't I see?
Being is all that's left for me
And still I can't see?
If people are dust, we must, we must
Occupy ourselves lest we become
Bitter husks
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