The tears don’t flow,
And the morning arrives on time,
With its urgent summons.
The moments dance,
To the even ticks of the clock.
You smile at work,
You laugh at jokes
You pretend to look learned,
As the slides of the CME flash.
You curse the idiots on the road
You have tea, and you burn
Calories on the road.
And always within you
Is a parch of burnt out hearth
On which nothing ever will grow
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