the many ways we find to lose our time
our energy our zeal
are better known as just the traits we need
to maybe heal
we twist within the stilling wind
we ride to move our conscience
we text to no one's memory
a pointless correspondence
the up and down within ourselves
so usual so trite
is all that strength can bring us now
the outcome of our might
and you and i must face the facts
the world's a line of scrimmage
and we are nothing now but names
and what might pass for image
society's a drunken fool
in search of a companion
and all the words we spend out here
an echo in the canyon
so tell me once or tell me twice
the outcomes are coequal
we're all the same old story
followed by the same old
sequel
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