Cement that waves goodbye to the stairs and the sun and the stars
Not everything can always be where it wants to be.
How do such good manners turn into such anxiety?
A well-mannered lady never falters
Faltering, in the eyes of a gentleperson, is the same as fleeing,
And neither will be looked upon kindly.
The cold fingernails grasp tightly onto the manners they follow
Hoping desperately not to be left behind
With the riffraff and other broken dreams that lay in that disgusting heap of nothingness.
The cool cement tries to calm the anxiety but naturally
Well naturally their scientific properties cannot coincide.
-lbr.
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