Commence awkward silence when we stand for The Songfaking our way through the normal procession.
Outside the cigarette smoke lingers its way back in
on the five-hundred-dollar blazers of
the ghostly heartless suits.
Then the patronizing speech tries to be revolutionary
tries to steal our time and throw it back
on our tired, expressionless faces. We study the ceilings,
ornate decorated vomit,
distract ourselves by moving in those certain ways.
Follow the music, follow the standards.
