There are always hidden surprises
Where there are no obvious expectations
There is always a sense of defiance
In having to deal with abrupt confrontations
And the commute just takes too long
And the lines are never empty
Lest you forget or forego
To communally visit a knocked up photo booth
A spot where, everybody should flock
Just for once
To see, compare, evaluate
Whether something has indeed changed
Since the last morning they faced the Sun
And it is indeed a violent crime
To masterfully dance
Alone and on time
Along a highly distorted, scratch disked beat
It does, apparently, get you into a lot of heat
Despite the peaceful surroundings and humble sausage stands
Despite the unseen barriers and paid-up watchdogs
Guards that see through who gets through
Installing leathered wristbands
Ominously laced with future warnings
Onto the same arms that will eventually
Shake a doctored pair of dice
Anchoring on the pain of a possible credible
Payout
For having, so sheepishly flocked here
Under a cosmic terrace, unquestionably
Ambivalent
In regards to the toxicity of any match
That hinders the expressional ability
Of a person, on a stage, down in a farm
Packed with amphetamines
Squandered on horse-pill tranquilizes
Missing the point
While pedantically handling
An overfilled and underscored joint.