Fire... Deth

Funeral Diner

I've mastered the art of small talk the bond of wet paper
and a friendly gesture giving way to a colder stance a
black lung full of feeling remember this he says the
machine gives no response I choke on the memories the
garbage piles up the machine feeds back he grins lightly
and turns away another tree in the forest dies I sleep well
beneath my apathy

Tracker

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