My sleep is run over by locomotives
And my mornings seem to be bulldozed
The dreams all sell well
In the fairytale market of failures
All sights are branded by flyovers
And all sounds sound like infallible deliverance
Consumption is the enamel of hatred
Clothing to drape oneself with endless inhibitions
To live is to hibernate thinking of summer days
Fooling oneself under the firmament starry
It's all right i'm wide awake now.
1 comment:
This seems like city-life disillusionment
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