A yawn and a look around
in the hope it will pop
Out of the air and into my mind
Stretch out antennas yet fail to receive
All it takes is a quiver
for a thousand needles to sting
Night frost blows cold
Detects static beings from
Others that make a dynamical swing
Unlike the former they aren’t aware
Non of all this ever pops in their minds
Too busy to listen they talk to the walls
Claiming up space like it’s their turn, again
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