Doors are very
mystical things. 

Led Zeppelin and I
give you every inch 
of our love on a Wednesday.

The middle tastes like
vodka and soup. 

Yes, I will take
what I'm driven
by a dance of acres. 

Some sort of afternoon,
of which work is working. 

Certain songs sew the scene,
and then we dream of the past,
because of time machines.

All of this technology 
is churning our brains.

And since your senseless love
I have not been the same, 
and it has made all the measure.