He walks tall, the strides
ever so real... A glide surreal,
above the naive rich men
honking out their emotions
to the one ahead of 'em in
the rat race at sunrise,
the crawl back to love
in the red-light hours.
He is immune, I think,
free from the snare
at the toll booth yonder;
they all have to pay for smoking,
for sins... for their luxury;
he just pays with his card
and walks out a free man...
His liberty comes announced like clockwork.
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| en.wikipedia.org |
