I can't walk in a straight line.

Its alright, the worlds not flat.

Too many curves to meet in the end.

Too many miles to trek perfectly.

Haven't met my so called maker.

I wonder if his name is Joe?

Does he like tea or coffee?

Maybe we'll meet along that road.

I tried to pick up strangers.

But they all talked to much for me.

They clogged the myths of loaners.

Made it generic like these lives.

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