We do not know what kills us when we're buying things
We take them home, they rest in back seats, hiding
as we walk up walkways, sneaking into the scene
The edges of the scene, the corners of our eyes
They sing a little, subaudibly, but audible enough
They hunt so quietly, we do not know how tough
We have to be to protect ourselves, who lives who dies
Depends on how careful we are, bad luck floating
in the air, stalking in the shadows around corners
Around the bend, looming over us, teeth gloating
where we fail to see. Old impulses calling to warn
And calling to be torn. The prey of death desiring
Finds death easy. Slow suicide is easy. Go to the store.
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