There is no desire in Commercial Lust. Nothing is striven for Only pulled away Stripping heart from mind from soul And draining the breath of life From a dying orchid of decay. There is a weeping sadness In the shadowbox we see On an entertainment shelf Holding a TV. The bright mag covers all the same Flowing through the malls Show models in their creepy stares Drowned in alcohol. The fortunate among us Will come to realize That to truly build a better self Takes mental exercise.
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