You took your hand from out of my pocket
Only to find pieces of paper that had been torn to shreds
Broken promises of the bygone age of man and machines
Laughable in the face of this present future
Where sleep is reserved for kings of nothing
And the pauper must toil away in regretful futility
The lowest common denominator had become your currency
Nothing beats punching yourself in the face for a few laughs
The machines ate it up like sugar coated rotten tuna
Unaware of the damage they do or of your intent
But in this present future your hard work is all for nothing
I found a way to break your madness and be free of broken promises
In my other pocket I kept something far more powerful
I kept something that was rare in this present future
That few dare to create and even less dare to keep
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A clenched fist of purity and infinite possibilities
One that swung for you when you were distracted
By shreds of paper
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