This coffee rebublic is turning mad
Little by little.
Can't find it bad.
Seems like a candle.
Nothing still worth under white sun.
Numbers are counting.
I seem undone
In this fare haunting.
My voices are equal, both dead and sore.
Touch me - hangover.
You earn the score,
I watch your cover.
The sun is neglecting on your hot roof,
Somewhere is raining.
I can't find proof
For overacting.
By reflecting sounds to final gap.
You can delay it
Or even rape,
You won't make profit.