The workadays were propping the bar
Quietly erasing the week
I was in a corner booth
Thinking, pretending to read
About the impossibility
Of one to love unconditionally
And the words that we drive into the ground
Their repetition starts to thin their meaning

Then everything got frighteningly still
As they entered and intersected the floor
And I tried to choke my stare
At the perfection that others would kill for
But all of thе parts are the same on еvery face
Few variables change
The differences pale when compared
To the similarities they share

Finally, there is clarity
And there is purpose after all
Though some revert to the gospel verse
They know debate exposes doubt
Finally, there is clarity
Our tiny lives are making sense
Watching clocks from our tiny boxes
While maxing out our pension plan