I don't care
The frayed child's lie
You should not argue with those not there.
The washing machine will not clean
The churning of these waking dreams.
Pouring dirt in the powder slot
Push the button, pressing play
Turn the dial to boiling hot.
A grey matter, you cannot run away.
Nor waste in anguish yet more days
For all the fearful love you share
You should not argue with those not there.
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