The car was noxious with the smell of shrimp juice
Delicately rubbing the day's sweat off my heinous face
All I'm hearing is the clank of items loose
Feeling the emotions of the daily grind; just a sense of debase
"Yes Sir," I smell like seafood and cheese
I work over yonder, I'm a mere catastrophic waitress
So make a left here, please
Slowing up to my home, here comes the wave of self-deprecating hatred
Think, thank the lord, I had a taxi take me home from work
I have now expedited my ability to rush to a sterile sense of home
Where, in reality, I am the lone inhabitant that lurks
As the door then opens; I am smacked by my life's reality; Hell is chrome
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