[I used to play a racing game, when frustrated from skidding I would swear.]
We dance around harmoniously, yet you seem to be farther and farther ahead.
One day you’ll pass me yet be flagging behind.
That day I’ll cook us beans on toast, with cheese.
There is no man inside you, you are not the second one, mere hope gave us a second watcher.
If anything we should have looked upon you as a threat, calculation now tells us otherwise. At least in our lifetime.
