Limb From Limb, Salaryman

Rage of the crimson violent
A midnight run, constructed
To race ahead of thoughts
Before they catch up
Exhausted before the dawn appears
Weary from battle
The salaryman rests
Meanwhile, outside
Everything continues to grow
In spite of dying inside
You want to scuttle each blossom
Tear each leaf from each limb
No trouble for the trees
You will never recover


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