Women who feel like they should,
And then there's me
In this ridiculous metal machine, as silly as it seems.
This is how I get there, get by. Not hearing the birds sing in the morning sky.
Not noticing the time passing
Or the waves crashing
Or the little things that grace each morning that are real.
And I, like all others have come to no longer be able to feel
Sense, touch, taste
The true world in our haste to go from place to place.
Maybe that's what's so awfully wrong
That we've grown accustomed to a new song
With turning gears and motors and hums
Different to the melody the spider strums
On her silver web artfully designed
Without instructions or direction,
just crafted with instant perfection.
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