[Spoken: Rob Taxpayer]
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.