They
hate it when you give them
All
the dirt they could ever possibly want
And
they can’t use it,
Because
they’re looking to fit you into a mold
But
you’ve already made one for yourself,
Avoiding
the typical white hat/black hat
Film
Noir these guys like to create
In
their attempt to create myths
They
can sell to their clients,
When
everybody should know
There
is no distinction, just gray haze
Through
which all people stroll,
Trying
to avoid the pitfalls and the petty traps
Laid
by vengeful, overly ambitious men
With
Napoleon complexes
Who
get frustrated and dangerous
When
anyone gets in-between them
And
their petty schemes,
Sending
fedora-wearing detectives to stare
Out
from the darkened doorways
Across
the street, looking to find
The
right kind of dirt for the right kind of trap
And
all you give them is dirt to bury themselves with.
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