Fortune tellers breathe the toxins Breath the toxic air of me I pay the cybil psychics well To warn my family Nothing now or ever will Return to me complete Pressing buttons rearranged Sucking on a sour treat Plethoras of common things Running through a wire The smart and tactful cells of me Outnumbered by the liars. Retreating onto common ground Breaking it in two True intents distorted, then Expressing them to you. Little I accomplish My hands have tired of flailing Common sense has reached your station I was on the railing.