Dust settles on a thin cloud. Sends a fog drifting to a worn out crowd. I've had my face in the mirror for twenty-four hours. Starin' at a line of white powder High-priced madness pays the tab
sister and your sister's friends Like an exterminator running low on dust. I'm bug powder itchin' and it can't be trussed. Inter zone trippin' and I'm off to Annexia. I gotta get a typewriter that's
