Two black line streaming out
Like a guidance line Put one
foot on the road now Where the
cyborgs are driving With
the WD-40 in their veins The
screeching little brakes complain
With the briefcase empty
and the holes in my shoes I
try to stay friendly
for the sugary
abuse So tell my secretary now
To hold all of my calls I believe
I can hear through these walls
Oh please save me Save me
from myself I can't be the only
one Stuck on the shelf You
said you'd always Fall for the
underdog
Well I've been dreaming of jetstreams
And kicking up dust A 37,000
foot of wanderlust And with
skyline number 9 Ticked off
in my mind Oh can you hear me
screaming out Now through the
telephone lines
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