Swept from pillar to post,
We trudge along like ghosts,
A dollar more perhaps,
But none the richer we get.
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Information makes me sore,
The grapevine gives some more
Playing along, buying money with time
Playing along, to make it all mine.
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Where is my heaven now?
Whither do I head?
Can I not just build it here
And regale myself instead?
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