a cacophony of shoes
shuffling in near synchronicity
a congregation of wage slaves
heading off for another day on repeat
to witness such scenes first hand
is a phenomenon alien to me nowadays
for I do not follow the same deadly rhythms
conversely, I was heading back home
I spent the night in an orgy of gutter excess
beer bottles, bongs and syringes
enough to make the aliens frown
no, I do not follow the same rhythms
I dance to the beat of disillusioned escapism
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