Tailspin, lost car, the rails win.
Too concerned with if I fail, win. Press begin–
Rest? Me? When? Count to ten. In a den of
Deceit, corporate leaks and abhorrent seats.
Discord in my cords.. No sword.
Drum with varied beats that parody me.
Write in a rock by the Caspian Sea. Another
singular sip, no, had to be three–