Hurried

Everything is hurried and my hands are made of steel
Everyone is empty and cannot heal Everything is moving at the speed of sound
Everyone is plunging straight through the ground

All the cars are useless, all the airplanes walk
All the pigeons scramble before they are crushed
All the people worry and laugh and sigh
All the people know is how to die

Everything is dying and my heart is made of stone
Everyone is trying to get their feet back home
No one knows the way, no one knows the cure
Everything is dirty, unkempt, and impure

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