The Taxpayers
rapid movements in a bottle
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Rapid movements, piled up mail.
A knock in the engine, sputtering smoke and fumes, forcing out air.
Swarming flies on a rotting apple sitting right there in the middle
Haven't had a single moment not for yourself.
Took off ten times this past year for a perfect place,
always ended up in a sterilized room with Message
in
a
Bottle stuck on repeat.
Never could stand that song.
And it's always the same fucking hands holding the leash every moment that you go.