Fires forming in drops of snow
Signals tell the blind to go
And take this guitar,
It will staple you a star
If he'd only make it to one show
Played a puppet in his dreams
Sacked in favor for machines
Their sounds now soothe his evil mind
Aching with a swallowing pride
Even the paperboy isn't who he seems
Shadows reaching from the dark
Children prancing in the park
Parasites aid his swarming mood
Praised like a hero, svelte but lewd
Shame is the mark forsaken
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