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Workers of Music

Are you dead standing?
Not flattened or stout?
Are you an innocent life?
Not ready to burn out?
 
You found the secret passage,
Made your way through the maze,
You're a person of ideas,
But still will stay the same.
 
Larger than life,
It's pretty hard to do,
You passed the checkered flag,
But used up all your fuel.
 
Unconventional times,
Can we live after the future?
What the audience says now,
Is a passing of pop culture.
 
The astronaut can walk,
On the earth or on the moon,
He drinks his powdered coffee,
And stirs it with a spoon.
 
The type-A personality,
Is the search for a thrill,
Someone could be bored,
But focuses on the kill.
 
The workers of music,
Stuck in their hopes and dreams,
Into the melodic engine,
Maybe picking up some steam.
 
My flowing stream of conscious,
Is right outside my door,
My mind moves the smooth current,
And thoughts drift by for sure.
 
But the sky can't be the ocean,
And the ocean not the sky,
They've been there for a while,
Just letting time pass by.
 
Rhymes will only matter,
If the words will sound the same,
This a last example,
To play this vocal game.
 



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