My words, they go through menopause
And jump in front of trains
The ashtray fills with syllables
I barely even see these walls
It hardly ever rains

You are my plastic counterpart
Your symmetry prevails
By vacant tombs you stand bejeweled
A simple plan - to please this world
It hardly ever fails

You're lurking in my looking glass
We cross at open slits
Our tissues interchangeable
Though truth is highly bendable
It hardly ever fits

And poets, they're a dime a dozen
We trade in fancies and in naughts
This currency seems awfully fuzzy
A nickel for my troubles
A penny for your thoughts