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  • Another day another dollar, one of those repetitions to kid.
    Another day another addiction.
    It seemed everyday was the same, everyday a mere cycle of chasing and chasing and chasing but getting nowhere.
    The sky not ready to open its eyes, snoozing along waiting for the sound of the clanging cymbal to awaken.
    Get through today and get sorted tomorrow.
    A return of phrase.
    No source in the stockhouses. No cash in the pockets just arrears belonging to the men who make dreams in teaspoons.
    That pipe sat waiting to be put through it's paces.
    To get this far was the achievment. Able to work, for what ?
    A false sense of life that would drop in an instant and hide.
    A taste of flight, a smell of sweet spice, stale as yesterday.
    Keep looking in that mirror.
    The day will come when the shell that sits will talk back.
    Locked up, choked up and gargled.
    Controlled by the South American who doesn't know your name or you number but will keep you coming back.
    Escape, seek, destroy it all when it's time or it wont come and you wont happen.
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