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Let them have it; it's theirs

 Beauty goes out of the world and it's only the beating of flesh that fills the air. It's only the moaning of some whore made good by the bank balance of a richer man. Let them bang on at it. Let the flesh smells rot the air. As for this withering part of the tree, As for me:  I will enjoy the last rays of the sun.  People are such a disappointment.
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It takes guts to make a stand

Corky voices surround me. 

 I know they're trying, but it's really low-key stuff. 

They have no style. They dance like everyone's looking; 

I guess, because they are.

But don't get me caught up in your robot world. It's not worth it. It's lame duck type stuff. 

You have to do something though... So I guess it's the robot dance for them. That's all they have. 




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