Look at the shelves, they empty
Look at the bills, they drain me
Look at the scarfs, they tempt me
to hang from nape of some wealthy
to entitle him of the right to waste me

Perhaps I percieve me wasted
wasted by the time we wasted
gettin’ wasted to feel powerless
and disconected
risen above the haste
over the pale hands of a fixed fate
over the sky-blue currents
of the oceans of hate

And oh! They detest me
As much as I hate it
Talking 'bout the time I wasted
Writting 'bout a time that wasted me

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